


Trust Me But Don't Thank Me Yet

by stickdonkeys



Series: Trust and Betrayal [2]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No One Ring, Angry!Kili, Angst and Feels, Does it look fixed this time?, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Events in the past really do come back to haunt you, Everyone Needs A Hug, Family Drama, Gen, Hurt!Thorin, Hurt/Comfort, It does . . . hang on. There's still a piece out of place, It works much better ... not!, Kili's the sane one? God help us all, Let's just rebreak it and start all over shall we?, Mental Health Issues, Moderation? ... what is this word you speak of?, No One Ring leading to MAJOR plot changes, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Pact, Survivor Guilt, Talking things out? Nah . . . too easy. Let's make assumptions instead., Thorin's issues lead to self-esteem issues for Fili and issues in general for Kili, Torture, and on the issues ... suffice it to say EVERYONE has issues, angry!Fili, damaged!Fili, damaged!Thorin, damaged!kili?, gross abuse of your feels, hurt!Kili, thwarted murder-suicide plans, what's worse? EVERYONE knew and no one did anything.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 64
Words: 223,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickdonkeys/pseuds/stickdonkeys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Goblin Town, Thorin offers himself in Kili's place to protect his nephew from torture. However, Goblins are not that easy to fool and even when the Goblin agrees to the substitution it is not enough to prevent Fili and Kili's participation or to save them from mental scarring. In the aftermath of what happened in Goblin Town, tensions that had been simmering between the three for nearly seven decades come to a head. Even though they survived the goblins, will things ever go back to how they were before? Or will things remain irreparably broken?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Kingly Substitution

"Why have you entered my kingdom so heavily armed?" The Great Goblin asked looking up from the sword in his lap to glare at Thorin, the dwarves and Bilbo. "Do you come seeking war?"

"We did not intend to enter your kingdom at all," Thorin said majestically, or as majestically as he could while bound and being held between two goblins. "We were merely traveling through the mountains. We never meant to come here."

"Lies!" The Great Goblin hissed. "Besides, all of the Misty Mountains are my kingdom. Why were you traveling?" Thorin looked away. He would not tell the goblin the reason for his travels through the mountains. It was none of his business. The entirety of the Misty Mountains was not his domain.

"You will not tell me?" the Goblin asked. Silence again met his question. "If that's the case, perhaps a bit of pain will loosen your tongues. Bring me the youngest!"

"Wait!" Thorin called as goblins began to grab his youngest nephew and drag him forward. He couldn't stand the idea of seeing Kíli in pain. There was no way that he could allow it to happen if he could help it. "He knows nothing," Thoirn said, knowing that his words would hurt the company but preferring that to seeing them tortured. "None of them do."

"They don't know anything?" The Goblin King asked skeptically.

"Look at them!" Thoirn scoffed gesturing with his head at his rag-tag company—admittedly looking worse for wear since their capture. "Would  _you_  have told them anything? I am the only one that could tell you anything. We dwarves are secretive by nature, you know this. Why would I have shared information with  _them?_ "

"So  _you_  will be the one to tell me what you are doing in my kingdom?" the Goblin demanded.

"I will tell you nothing," Thorin replied lifting his head in defiance, "unless you can read the answer written in blood on the ground. Hurting them will do nothing to help you in that goal. If I don't trust them with  _why_  we are here how much can I care for them?"

"You will tell us," the Great Goblin replied gesturing with his head. In response, Kíli was thrown back into the mass of dwarves and Thorin was grabbed and pulled forward. He offered only minimal resistance as they stripped him of his armor and clothing. He didn't want them to decide that one of the smaller members of the company would be less trouble. He even resisted the urge to fight them as they bound him between two poles.

"NO!" Kíli cried attempting to rush forward. Only to be stopped by Fíli, who had seen their uncle's plan and realized what Thorin was willing to sacrifice for them. But Kíli didn't see the warning or understanding in Fíli's eyes. His own were too filled with panic at the idea that he would see his uncle tortured. He hadn't known that the quest would be like this. If he had, he never would have left home.

"Hush!" Thorin replied in Khuzdul. "I will tell them nothing and would not see you harmed. Don't do anything foolish." The Great Goblin grabbed his hair and gave it a sharp tug causing him to grimace in pain, though no cry left his throat.

"None of that now," the Goblin said. "No secrets. What did you tell the boy?"

"I told him to be silent before I cut his foolish tongue from his head," Thorin lied. Turning his head roughly to the side as the goblin released his hair. The goblin looked between the two of them and his eyes widened as he put the pieces together.

"I see," the Goblin said grinning triumphantly down at Thorin. "He is your son!"

"I have no sons!" Thorin spat, the bitterness in his voice shocking them all. They hadn't realized that Thoirn desired children. He had always seemed content—or as content as he ever was—with Fíli and Kíli.

"But he  _is_  a close relative," the Goblin pressed. "A nephew, perhaps?" As Thorin looked away the Goblin smiled. "This is too delicious! Bring the boy!"

"NO!" Thorin roared pulling on his bonds in vain. "You said that you would leave him out of this. He knows nothing!"

"Perhaps that is true and perhaps it is not," the Great Goblin replied with a shrug. "That does not concern me. Not really." As Kíli was brought to him, he grabbed a small knife and roughly cut the youngster's bonds. He felt that one dwarf should pose no threat to them.

"I have a very special task for you, lad," the Goblin said leaning towards Kíli conspiratorially, though he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear him. "Your uncle has information that I need. And  _you_  are going to get it for me. I want you to take this knife and cut your uncle. Shallow cuts if you please, we want to hurt him not kill him . . . yet. When he talks, you can stop."

"I can't," Kíli gasped looking at Thoirn with wide, desperate eyes. "I can't do that."

"If you don't," the Goblin threatened, "then you can join him. Your pain as well as his own might convince him to talk more quickly."

"Do it," Thorin said looking at Kíli trying to mask the fear that he could feel in his face at the thought of what would happen if he couldn't get the boy to comply. "Kíli, just do it."

"I can't, Uncle," Kíli sobbed mistaking the fear in his uncle's eyes for fear for Thorin's wellbeing rather than for his own. "I can't."

"You have to," Thorin said in a comforting a voice as he could manage at the time. Kíli  _had_ to do this. He couldn't bear to see the boy hurt. "It'll be alright. I swear to you, it'll be alright." Thorin didn't intend to be in this position for long. He was only stalling for time. Gandalf had been with them and would appear soon. He hoped. But, he had no way to tell Kíli, and hoped he would figure it out on his own.

"Do it," Throin breathed. Kíli's face crumpled and he extended his shaking hand and laid the blade on his uncle's chest. He looked up at Thorin, his brown eyes pleading him to do something to stop this and what was unmistakably a tear clinging to his lower lashes. Thorin nodded and with a sob, Kíli brought the knife across Throin's chest in a shallow arc.

The King tried to control the way his body flinched at the pain of the knife passing through his flesh but couldn't mask it entirely. His pained hiss gave it away and Kíli dropped the knife, placing shaking hands over the cut and sobbing. He couldn't believe that he had just cut his uncle, the only father he had ever known. Thorin's blood was on his hands and he had been the one to shed it.

"I'm sorry," he kept saying as his hands tried to force the blood back into his Uncle's body. It wasn't really that much blood. The cut had been a shallow one, but to the traumatized heir of Durin it may as well have been a river.

"Kíli," Thorin tried to get his attention. "Kíli! I'm fine. I'm fine. Now pick the knife back up." The young dwarf shook his head passionately.

"I won't," Kíli said glaring defiantly at his uncle. "I won't do it. They can't make me."

"They can," Thorin replied into his ear in a voice that was little more than a whisper. "Please, don't make me watch that. Just do as they ask. It'll only be for a little while. Only a little pain and it'll be over." Kíli knelt to retrieve the knife; his eyes looking up at his uncle were so lost that Thorin wondered if seeing the boy in physical pain would actually be worse. He felt horrible for forcing Kíli to do it but he couldn't do otherwise.

"That's a good lad," Thorin said swallowing as he felt Kíli place the knife against his flesh again. The boy's hand was shaking so severely that it caused the knife to prick him accidently.

"Again," the Goblin instructed. "Cut him again. Longer this time. From here to here." He instructed gesturing from his own collarbone to his hip. "Deeper over the chest and shallower over the rest. Don't want to cause too much damage yet," the goblin instructed.

"Uncle," Kíli pleaded. He knew that he couldn't do it. Well, he could but he didn't want to. He didn't want to cause his uncle any more pain. Not that he wanted to experience pain either, but he could handle that better than this. He wasn't sure that he could live with himself for this. Rather than reply, Kíli felt a sob rise up his throat as Thorin pressed himself into the blade, drawing blood once more before looking at his nephew levelly. Drawing a shaky breath Kíli began to move the knife, following the path that the goblin had indicated. There was more blood this time.

Thorin ground his teeth together at the pain of it. Kíli probably thought that he was helping by moving the blade so slowly, but in reality he was only making it worse. He wished that he could tell the boy to just get it over with, but Kíli was barely hanging in there as it was, one word, one  _hint_  of the pain that he was causing would be enough to tip him over the edge and cause him to refuse. No matter the pain the boy caused him, Thorin would say nothing. He would not make this any harder on Kíli than he had to.

Fíli watched in horror as his brother brought the knife to their uncle's flesh again and again at the urging of both the Goblin and Thorin himself. Kíli was sobbing uncontrollably and begging Thorin to let him stop. Fíli knew that was making it all the more difficult for their Uncle, who he could see was using all of his self-control to keep from crying out. His arms straining against his bonds and his breath beginning to come in pants. Thorin wouldn't be able to restrain himself much longer and when he cried out nothing in this world would persuade Kíli to continue. Fíli knew that then he would have to watch them both in pain and that he could do nothing to stop it. Begging for clemency would accomplish nothing and he would not betray his uncle by revealing the cause of their journey. He was soon saved having to do either thing by the smallest member of their company.

"Please," Bilbo begged, tears in his voice. "This is inhumane. Stop this."

"Halfling!" Thorin snapped in warning before Bilbo could say something that he couldn't take back.

"Don't worry," The Great Goblin said gently leaning down towards Bilbo and stroking his face delicately. "We will stop this, as soon as he tells me what I want to know."

"You'll never get it that way," Bilbo replied, sniffling slightly. "The boy will never cause the kind of pain that you need to get Thorin to talk. He said himself that he doesn't care about us enough to tell us what is going on. Why would a little emotional pain sway him? Dwarves care for nothing but gold. Not even kin." Indignation welled within the dwarves as Bilbo spoke. Did he really think so little of them that he would say such a thing to their enemies? It was only once the Great Goblin replied that they realized he was trying to save Kíli from further emotional damage.

"I hadn't thought of it that way," the Goblin replied. "Boy, give me the knife." Kíli gave it to him thankfully not realizing that he was giving the Goblin the means to torture his uncle. "Put him with the others," the Goblin ordered. They didn't rebind him but just shoved him back towards the mass of dwarves, where he clung to Fíli and sobbed heartrendingly into his brother's chest. With his hands still bound all Fíli could do was lay his head against his brothers and whisper calming words.

"That was some quick thinking, lad," Balin whispered to Bilbo. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," Bilbo replied watching as the Goblin circled Thorin like an overgrown vulture. Despite what he had said, Kíli had done enough damage to be going on. The King's chest was covered in his own blood, and it was clear from the set of his shoulders and jaw that he was in pain. And that had been with a torturer that was fond of him. Bilbo hated to think of what he had condemned the King to endure through sparing his nephew, but the look of thanks in Thorin's eyes told him that the King was at least grateful . . . for now.


	2. Defiance and Consequences

The Great Goblin circled Thorin, examining the handiwork of his nephew. Despite the blood, the cuts were shallow. The boy had done no real damage; even the deepest one had not managed to cut to the bone. The Goblin parted the sides of the wound with a disapproving frown.

"We'll have to work on his skills," he muttered to Thorin while the dwarf winced in pain as his wound was reopened. "The boy would benefit from a lesson."

"Leave him out of this," Thorin snarled viciously, fearing that the lesson would not be an object lesson but rather one written into Kíli's flesh. He knew that all it would take would be one cry of pain or even just the sight of his nephew's blood to make him tell the Goblin anything he wanted to know to make it stop. He could not bear to see Kíli in pain. He could only hope that the Great Goblin didn't realize that fact.

"I will," the Goblin replied. "For now anyway." Thorin couldn't help the relief that flooded through him at the promise, weak as it was. Kíli was safe for now. With that knowledge, Thorin steeled himself to endure anything the Goblin could inflict on him.

"I've noticed something odd about you, dwarf," the Great Goblin said as he circled Thorin again. "You have no tattoos. Every dwarf that I have ever seen had at least one. Most of them were hidden, but I saw them. You, however, don't. We will have to remedy this."

At the Goblin's words, both Thorin and Fíli breathed a sigh of relief. Tattoos weren't horribly painful. If Kíli could have heard the words over his sobs he would have been relieved as well. But he didn't. All he could feel was Fíli relax slightly and nuzzle his head comfortingly. He leaned into the caress, feeling guilty for receiving comfort from his brother. He didn't feel that he deserved it. He was vile. He still couldn't believe that he had cut his uncle to save his own skin. It was wrong.

And as it turned out, so were Thorin and Fíli. The Great Goblin gestured to one of the others and they brought over Thorin's sword, which the Goblin drew from its scabbard and placed in the fire nearest to Thorin.

"I don't have a tattoo kit, I'm afraid," the Goblin said with a malicious smile. "But I feel that the inscription on this sword should work well enough, don't you?" At his words, Fíli looked at his uncle in fear. The Goblin didn't intend to tattoo Thorin: he intended to brand him. Thorin caught his eyes and shook his head telling his nephew to keep silent. This was still endurable. Fíli or Kíli interfering and getting injured was not.

"No," Fíli breathed just as the Great Goblin drew the red hot sword from the fire and moved behind Thorin. He closed his eyes, he couldn't watch as the sword was brought to his uncle's flesh. This was too much.

"What?" Kíli asked desperately, lifting his head from his brother's neck for the first time and turning to look at his uncle. Fíli wanted nothing more that to stop Kíli from looking, but with his hands bound could do nothing. He winced as he heard Kíli's sharp intake of breath. And then Kíli was moving.

"No!" Fíli yelled trying to stop his brother from charging the Great Goblin. His eyes flew open and he dove forward, trying to tackle him, but he missed and Kíli continued forward.

"Kíli, stop!" Thorin called, just as his nephew was tackled by goblins and thrown back towards his brother. The dwarf King breathed a sigh of relief that Kíli was still unharmed. That could have gone much worse.

"Interesting," the Great Goblin purred before pressing the heated sword to the flesh across Thorin's shoulders. "I find it strange that you care more for his well being that your own," he breathed into Thorin's ear as the dwarf convulsed and panted in an attempt to escape the burning heat of the metal and the smell of burnt flesh and hair began to fill the air.

"Did your strange pet lie to me?" He asked pressing the blade more firmly against Thorin, drawing blood at the edge of the burn with the sharpened edge of the sword. "I think it might be time to bring the boy back into this." Thorin remained silent, knowing that anything he said would be the wrong thing. Even though his mind was beginning to become a cloud of pain he still knew enough not to give Kíli over to pain and death. Then in a moment of relief, the pain was gone, mostly, and he could think clearly once more. And his first thought was that Gandalf needed to hurry.

Fíli, however was not in the least bit relieved. He had seen the way that the Goblin had looked from Kíli's frantic eyes to their uncle in speculation and did not like the smile on his face at all. Fíli was only sure of two things. The first was that whatever could make the Goblin smile like that would be nothing good and the second was that there was no way that he would touch Kíli as long as Fíli still breathed. It was bad enough that he was harming their uncle, but he would not stand by and watch as they hurt his little brother.

But for the time being, the Great Goblin had no interest in touching the youngest heir of Durin. He was too busy admiring his own work on the eldest. But it seemed to him that something was missing. It almost seemed wrong to brand him with the name of a great sword. It needed an extra inscription, a footnote almost. Without warning, he drew the little knife he had given to the boy and roughly stabbed it into the flesh of Thorin's back before wrenching it viciously and beginning to carve words in the black speech.

The only warning Thorin had had been the horrified widening of his nephew's eyes before the dagger was buried in his flesh. It hadn't been enough to prepare himself and despite his best efforts, he felt a cry of pain rise up his throat. He tried to stifle it, but was unable to do so and heard it echo around in the cavern before dying out. He watched as Kíli's face crumpled once more and the pain of knowing that he had caused it to happen with his own weakness hurt almost more than the knife that was carving his flesh and spilling his blood. Almost. He was ashamed of himself that he felt relieved when Kíli once more buried his face in his brother's neck and Thorin was spared having to see his devastation. Because the pain was becoming unbearable and small cries were beginning to come from his throat though he kept his mouth closed to prevent their passage.

When the Great Goblin finally finished his grim inscription, he walked around to look at Thorin's face, hoping to see the pain in his eyes and perhaps, tears on his face. He was disappointed to see that Thorin's eyes were haunted, but it was not with physical pain. He was still looking at the boy with what could only be regret burring in their blue depths. It was now time to bring him back into the game. The dwarf King might just be ready to talk. It wasn't true that the fun had to stop once the words had been said.

"Bring me the boy," the Great Goblin ordered looking at Thorin as he did, and enjoying the hatred and sorrow that entered his eyes at the words. Immediately a goblin reached down to grab Kíli's hair and use it as a handle to separate him from his brother only to pull his hand back with a yelp as Fíli sank his teeth into the goblin's arm.

"Keep your hands off him," Fíli snarled glaring up at the goblin with a feral light in his eyes. The goblins would not be touching his brother again if he could help it. He hated the fact that he could taste its vile blood in his mouth, but his teeth were to only weapon that he had and he  _would_  use them.

"What's this?" the Great Goblin asked turning to face the commotion.

"The blonde dwarf, Your Malevolence," the goblin who Fíli had bitten replied. "He bit me when I tried to bring you the dark one." To further his point, the goblin showed his King the two semi-circles of oozing black blood on his arm where Fíli's teeth had punctured him.

"Interesting," the Goblin King mused. His eyes took in the way that Kíli clung to Fíli and the protectiveness in the blue eyes of the blonde one. Were they lovers? Something in Fíli's gaze reminded him of someone and he looked quickly at Thorin seeing the same hate in him that was in the blonde dwarf, and the same eyes.

"How many nephews did you bring on this trip, Thorin Oakenshield?" the Goblin asked, smiling in satisfaction as Thorin flinched at the words. The dwarf King had hoped that Fíli's identity would remain unknown. Then he, at least, would have been spared the anguish of being forced to take part in this.

"Do I have the entire remnant of the line of Durin in my home?" the Goblin asked rhetorically. "Could I end all of this madness once and for all?" The fear in Thorin's eyes told him that he had guessed the truth. In one move he could end the line of Durin forever. But that would be no fun.

"Separate them," the Great Goblin commanded, "and bring me the dark one." It took five goblins to carry out his command—one to hold Fíli's hair so that he could not turn his head to bite the others and four (two each) to pry the brothers apart. As his hands were pried from Fíli and they were drug apart, Kíli sobbed pathetically and called to his brother grasping desperately for him. At his cries, Fíli redoubled his efforts to be free, but on his knees, with his hands bound behind him and in the grip of three goblins there was nothing he could do and he had to watch helplessly as Kíli was dragged to the Great Goblin.

"Kíli," he breathed, wishing that there was some way that he could help his brother and his uncle and feeling absolutely worthless. He had sworn to his mother that he would look out for Kíli and there was nothing that he could do. He was useless.

It was a sentiment that Thorin shared as he watched Kíli be dropped at the feet of the Great Goblin. He tried to school his features into a mask of polite indifference, or even hate, but could feel the pain etched there that refused to leave. He only hoped that the Goblin thought that it was pain over his wounds and not pain at having failed his nephew. If the Goblin King had any idea what Kíli and Fíli truly meant to him things would go very badly for them.

"Come here, boy," the Goblin said grabbing Kíli by the hair and dragging him to his feet seemingly oblivious to the cry that he gave at the rough treatment. A cry that pierced both his brother and his uncle like a dagger.

"Please," Kíli begged. "I'll come. You don't have to drag me." The plaintive tone was too much for Fíli. He had never heard his brother speak in such a manner, even when trying to placate their mother or uncle when he was in trouble. It made Fíli begin to sob quietly.

"I'd prefer to keep a hand on you," the Goblin replied. "No offence, but I don't trust you." While they were talking, the Goblin had been dragging Kíli towards Thorin. Once they were close enough, he forced Kíli's nose to one of the cuts on Thorin's chest.

"What is wrong with this?" the Great Goblin asked using the hand that wasn't imbedded in Kíli's hair to gesture at the wound.

"It exists?" Kíli asked sarcastically. Fíli felt a wry smile cross his face at his brother's attitude, but felt it fall as the Goblin wrenched his hair causing him to cry out again.

"Not the time for sarcasm, lad," Thorin whispered, hoping that Kíli would hear him and listen.

"No," the Great Goblin replied turning Kíli to face him and speaking as though he was talking to an imbecile. "The problem is that it is shallow. It has already stopped bleeding. It is a good strategy if you want to torture someone for an extended period of time, but that is not my goal. I just want answers and deeper wounds cause more pain."

"Take the knife," the Goblin commanded offering Kíli the handle. Kíli looked at his uncle hesitantly not knowing what to do. The second his eyes left the Goblin's face, the knife flashed out and ran across his arm, leaving a line of blood and fire in its wake. Kíli cried out and covered the wound with his hand. Both Thorin and Fíli were distraught to see blood flowing from between his fingers.

"You will do as I say," the Great Goblin said. "Do you understand me?" Kíli nodded, clenching his teeth and glaring up at the Goblin. "Good. Now, take the knife." Kíli complied, releasing the cut on his other arm and feeing the blood begin to flow freely down his arm, slicking his hand and dripping down his fingers.

At the sight of Kíli's blood dripping onto the floor, Thorin felt furry flood his veins. How  _dare_  that goblin draw Kíli's blood?! It had been had enough that he had drawn Thorin's own, but to shed his nephew's as well! This was unacceptable! Where was that blasted wizard?

Fíli wasn't angry. He was horrified. He had never seen his brother bleed before. Not like this. There were great ruby drops falling in the firelight. Too many of them. It was wrong. He looked to his uncle, begging him to do something out of habit but then remembered that Thorin could do nothing to save them. No one could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read the newest chapter! I would love to hear what you thought!


	3. Coercion Has Many Forms

Even though no one could do anything to help, it didn't mean that no one tried.

"Why do you need the boy?" Bilbo asked desperately. It had worked the first time. Perhaps he could trick the Goblin once more. "He already failed once. Is it really necessary for him to fail again?"

"Gag that creature," the Goblin said looking a Bilbo with a withering glare. "He had already lied to me once. I wish to hear no more from him." As a goblin grabbed the hobbit's hair to carry out his order he turned back to the dwarves in front of him.

"Now that that's taken care of," the Great Goblin said. "Cut here" he ran a finger along Thorin's rib cage, showing the exact path that he wanted. "Deeply. I want to see bone before the blood covers it." Kíli nodded and placed the knife against his uncle's flesh, hearing his pained gasps that were almost sobs. As he looked at the wounds already littering his torso, Kíli felt bile rise up the back of his throat. He couldn't do it. He couldn't have more of his uncle's blood on his hands. He just couldn't bear it.

With a clatter, Kíli dropped the knife before grabbing Thorin's face between his hands and resting his forehead against his uncle's.

"I'm sorry," Kíli sobbed shaking his head sadly. "I can't. I-I can't do this anymore. I'm so sorry. I can-can't hurt you anymore. I'm s-sorry."

"No" Thorin breathed, horrified. "You have to. Pick the knife back up Kíli. Please! Just pick it back up."

"No," Kíli replied, shaking his head tears in his eyes and a sad smile on his face. "I'm sorry, Uncle. I can't do as you ask this time." Thorin had just enough time to take in his smile before it was contorted into a grimace of pain. The Goblin had grabbed his wounded arm and was applying pressure to the wound. Thorin watched helplessly as his nephew's brown eyes clouded with pain and he sank to his knees as a hoarse cry passed his lips.

"Now," the Goblin said releasing his arm roughly, "pick it up." Kíli glared up at him with a defiance that shocked Thorin. He hadn't known that the boy had it in him, that or the hatred he now saw in him. There was pure unadulterated hatred burning in Kíli's eyes as he cradled his wounded arm to his chest, but his head was held high as he answered the Goblin's order.

"No," Kíli replied, his voice firm and his tone making it clear that he would not change his mind. With a growl, the Goblin aimed a kick at Kíli's ribs that connected with a thud and caused Kíli to fall to the floor and curl in on himself more: turning into a little ball with his back to the Goblin and his vital organs shielded. With another, more vicious growl, the Great Goblin seized a whip from the goblin next to him and brought it down on Kíli. To his credit, he didn't cry out. However Fíli did and struggled more forcefully than ever against his goblin jailers. He knew that he  _had_  to do something to help his baby brother. He  _couldn't_  just stand by and watch.

As the Goblin raised his arm to bring down another blow, Thorin saw his opportunity to do something useful. He would be  _damned_  if a goblin beat his nephew at his feet without at least attempting to stop it. Wrapping his hands around the ropes at his wrists, he jumped forward over Kíli and shielded the lad from the blow with his legs before pushing Kíli behind him by sliding him along the floor with the back of his legs. As the Goblin came around behind him, he repeated the action in reverse. His wounds protested the abrupt motion and the whip weals stung painfully, but it was better than seeing Kíli harmed and he would do it all day if he had to.

Suddenly the Goblin's fist was in his hair and his head was wrenched painfully back. "Do that again," the Great Goblin growled into his ear, "and I will hamstring you so that you can't. Do you understand me?" Thorin gave a curt nod. He turned his head away from Kíli and away from the company. The Goblin clapped him painfully on the shoulder and walked around him. Thorin clinched his fists and closed his eyes as he heard the hiss of the air as the whip descended on Kíli once more. This time he did cry out and it was everything Thorin could do to stop himself from telling the Goblin everything. The only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that Kíli would survive this and once they knew the nature of the quest, the goblins would probably kill them all. He also clung to the hope that Gandalf would be there soon—even if it wasn't soon enough for Thorin's taste since Kíli's cries were beginning to fill the air, each one hitting him like a physical blow.

 _I'm sorry Dís,_  Thorin thought bitterly as he felt a tear escape from his eye.  _I know that I swore to defend him with my life. I'm sorry that I couldn't prevent this._  Suddenly there were words amidst the cries of pain and Thorin felt as though his heart had been ripped from his chest. Kíli was pleading.

"NO!" Kíli cried. "Please stop! I'll do whatever you want. Please!" One more blow fell and then it was silent, save for Kíli's continued sobs. Thorin risked a glance at them, terrified that he would see his nephew lying in a pool of his own blood, his skin a mutilated mess but all he saw was Kíli curled up on the ground sobbing. His clothes were still intact and Thorin could not see the extent of his injuries. But he could see Fíli's face. It was a horrified mask covered in tear streaks. Thorin felt his heart go out to his heir. Neither of them should have ever been placed in this position. It was his fault. He never should have brought them with him.

When the blows stopped falling, Kíli scrambled desperately for the knife at Thorin's feet and looked up at the Goblin desperately awaiting instructions. His limbs quivered with the after-effects of pain.

"Stand up," the Goblin ordered. Whimpering and wincing as he did so, Kíli stood, still facing the Goblin rather than his Uncle and Thorin could see the blood beginning to seep through his nephew's coat. He looked away from the sight in shame. It was his fault.

"Give me that," the Great Goblin said, snatching the knife from Kíli. "We're done with this for now. We'll just leave it here until we need it." With those words, he buried the knife into the muscle between Thorin's neck and shoulder. The dwarf King cried out in shock and his breath came in pants at the pain of it. He had not seen that coming.

"Then what—" Kíli began in a small lost voice before he was cut off.

"I have another task for you," The Goblin replied, grabbing Kíli by his wounded forearm and dragging him behind his uncle. "I never finished his tattoo," the Goblin said handing the young dwarf a bowl filled with blue powder. "Rub this into the wounds. You have to get it in deeply or the color won't take."

"What is it?" Kíli asked rubbing the blue powder between his fingers. It felt gritty but it had no odor. He had never seen it before in his life.

"Dye," the Great Goblin replied. "It won't kill him but it will make sure that my work remains visible forever." Kíli nodded and took a handful of the powder and gently applied it to his uncle's wounds. Thorin flinched at the contact and Kíli gritted his teeth in shame. He was too weak. He should have taken his beating stoically and not given in. Even though he knew it, he couldn't bring himself to defy the Goblin and call down more pain. He knew that either thing would hurt his uncle. And he wasn't sure that he could stand any more pain himself. He was too weak. He never should have come.

"Not like that!" the Goblin criticized, placing his hand over Kíli's and forcing him to apply more pressure. "You have to work it in." As the powder worked into the wounds, Thorin felt a cry of pain rise up his throat. It burned! The powder caused the wounds to feel as though a hot wire was being pressed into his flesh. He had never felt pain like it in all his life. And it didn't fade. If anything, with each new letter, the burning of the previous one intensified. Somewhere through the haze of pain, his mind offered him the answer; there was salt in that powder. His suspicions were confirmed moments later when Kíli spoke.

"You said it was just dye," Kíli challenged the Goblin tears in his voice. "Dye shouldn't do this!" His uncle was still sobbing, even though he had removed his hands. There was something else in that powder.

"There might be a little salt mixed in with the dye," the Goblin replied with a shrug. "Continue," he ordered, purposefully nudging Kíli's wounded back to remind him of the consequence of refusal.

"Get it over with, Kíli," Thorin gasped out. "The sooner it's done the sooner the burning will stop." At his uncle's blessing, Kíli continued, his movements harsh and disjointed with his need to complete his grizzly task quickly and they only became more so as Thorin began screaming again. By the time the task was finished, Kíli was shaking so badly that he could barely stand.

"I'm done with this one," the Great Goblin said suddenly pushing Kíli into the arms of another goblin nearby. "Bring me the blonde one."

"What should we do with him, your Malevolence?" the goblin holding Kíli asked.

"Tie his hands and put him with the others," the Goblin answered dismissively. The other goblin nodded and grabbed a length of rope before yanking Kíli's arms behind him violently, aggravating both his back and his wounded arm in the process and causing a strangled cry to rise up his throat. His eyes locked with Fíli's as they passed one another, and both brothers knew what it was that the other wanted to say: I'm sorry.

Once he was past Kíli, Fíli tired to school his features into a mask of hatred as befitted the heir of Thorin when dealing with an enemy. He wasn't entirely sure that he succeeded. And judging from the amused look on the Goblin King's face, he hadn't.

"Didn't think that you were going to get to miss out on all the fun, did you?" the Great Goblin asked a glowering Fíli.

"I won't participate in this," Fíli replied defiantly with a confidence that he didn't feel. "Pain won't sway me." He had never experienced true unrelenting pain and knew that he would probably crumble if it came down to it, but perhaps the Goblin could be fooled.

"Perhaps not," the Great Goblin answered, his voice a low vile whisper in Fíli's ear. "However that is not the stick that I had in mind for you. Do you see your brother over there? If you don't do as I say, we will tie you and force you to watch as we kill him. Slowly and painfully. Once we have begun, we will not stop—even if you tell us what we want to know. We will still kill him. And he will die screaming in agony. Do you understand? If you refuse to do as I ask it will be as though you kill your brother yourself."

"Will you do as I ask of you?" the Goblin asked with an evil smirk on his face. He knew what the answer would be before it was given. Even so, he found the look of indecision on the dwarf's face as he looked from his uncle to his brother amusing. It was almost more entertaining that the little one's cries of pain had been.

"I don't see where I have a choice," Fíli finally replied. He and his uncle exchanged looks that contained more than the simple meeting of eyes. Thorin could clearly see the apology for what was about to happen in Fíli's eyes and Fíli could see the understanding in his uncle's. They both knew that what was to follow would be in no way pleasant.


	4. The Consequences of Participation

"I'm so glad that you agreed to participate," the Great Goblin said with a malicious smile. Fíli gave him no reply other than an angry glare that was filled with hatred. It was clear that he wanted to kill him. Rather than feel intimidated, the Goblin found the dwarf's impotent fury amusing. He had been right. The blonde one would be much more useful than the dark one had been . . . though the dark one would still have his uses.

None of the others had heard the threat that the Goblin had whispered into Fíli's ear, but they could easily guess what it had been. Even thought he didn't cry as Kíli had, his breathing was abnormally heavy and his eyes were tortured as he looked between his uncle and his brother. The Great Goblin was going to make Fíli choose which of them he wanted to see in pain. No one envied him his choice.

At the realization of what the goblin was doing, Dwalin felt a growl rise up from his chest. This was beyond despicable. Torturing the King was bad enough, but involving the lads . . . there was no word that he could think of that aptly described how he felt about that. Though he was more than willing to try to demonstrate his displeasure with a string of curses directed at the Goblin in Khuzdul, the common tongue and even one or two that he had picked up in Orkish during various battles.

The Goblin raised an eyebrow at the language. He had to admit that he was almost impressed with the dwarf's vocabulary of vulgarities. But more so than that, he was pleased that he had managed to anger the otherwise silent audience to speaking. That was a good sign. First came obscenities, then threats, then pleas, and then, finally, information. They had just broken the first barrier. Now to see if the blonde dwarf could break the others . . . and perhaps a few bones.

"It's time to begin, dwarf," the Great Goblin said nudging Fíli towards his uncle. "Let's see if you have better knife skills than your brother. If I remember correctly we took more than a few knives from you when you were captured so I believe that you will." Fíli looked at his hands and then at the Goblin.

"I have no knife," Fíli said his voice steady—though shot through with anger—and his tone level. "How can I demonstrate skills with no knife?"

"There is one for you over there," the Goblin replied gesturing with his head towards Thorin and the knife still imbedded in his shoulder. "Use that one. It wouldn't do to have your brother claiming that the contest is invalid because he had an inferior weapon." Fíli nodded curtly before he walked to his uncle's side. He gently lifted his left hand and placed it over the bloody handprint Kíli had left on Thorin's face.

"I'm sorry," Fíli said. Unlike when Kíli had said the words, there was determination rather than desperation mingled with the regret behind them. Thorin realized that Fíli would do as he was asked and would not require urging from him to do it. It was clear that his nephew didn't want to, but that he would.

"What did he threaten you with?" Thorin asked. He knew that for Fíli to be so determined the Goblin had threatened Kíli and most likely with more than just pain. It would help him to endure whatever Fíli was about to inflict on him if he knew what was at stake if they failed.

"He says that if I refuse he'll kill Kíli," Fíli whispered levelly, his blue eyes hard with determination. "I am sorry, Uncle, but I  _will not_  watch him die."

"Nor will I," Thorin replied looking at his nephew with understanding. "Do what you must. And, Fíli. If he forces you to choose. Choose Kíli." Fíli nodded. He understood what his uncle asked of him and he sincerely hoped that it would not come down to that. He wasn't sure that he could live with himself if he was the one that said the words that resulted in his uncle's death. He felt his eyes begin to fill with tears at the thought, but tamped them down. The Great Goblin seemed to feed on pain and anguish and he would be  _damned_  if he gave him the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

"I love you, Uncle," Fíli whispered. Thorin had no chance to reply in kind because as soon as he had finished speaking, Fíli grabbed the knife and pulled it from his shoulder. He had not been cruel about it, but the movement hurt nonetheless and Thorin's eyes briefly closed as his breath came in pained gasps.

Unlike with Kíli, the Great Goblin kept his distance from Fíli as he gave him instructions. The little one had been timid, afraid even, but this one . . . even with so little a knife the Goblin knew that he could inflict major damage before he could be stopped. The dark one was still a child. This one, while young, was a warrior. And it was that training that the Goblin King called on now.

"I know that you know the correct places to strike to kill quickly," the Goblin said. "Avoid those. Other than that, your instructions are the same as your brother's were. Cut him. Deeply. You can stop when he talks or I tell you to. Whichever comes first. Do you understand?" Fíli nodded. He understood and he would do what he had to do to guarantee Kíli's continued survival. Even if it destroyed him in the process.

"Then begin," the Goblin said. The only warning that Fíli gave was in the increased tension in his jaw and the way his hands clenched before he struck. The knife flashed out almost faster than any of the spectators could follow and suddenly there was a deep, weeping red line on the King's ribcage where there had been none seconds before.

Even though the cut hurt and the pain of it left Thorin panting, he couldn't help but be thankful for Fíli's kindness. The rapidness of the attack had lessened the pain of it. Even if his movement had seemed more vicious that Kíli's it was actually more merciful. However, his mercy was not to last. The Goblin King knew that quickly inflicted wounds were less painful as well.

"Not like that," the Goblin sneered. "Even though you follow directions better than your brother and obviously have more skill with a knife, he is a much better torturer. All a quick cut like that will do is bleed him. That's not what I want from you. You are to  _hurt_  him. Keep the depth, but move the blade more slowly." At his words and anguished cry rose up Kíli's throat. He hadn't realized that in cutting slowly he had hurt his uncle more. Thorin hadn't said anything. If he would have . . . again Kíli felt self-loathing flood his veins. He should have known that. It shouldn't have been something that needed to be said. Once more, the though struck him that he never should have left home.

Fíli let out a growl at his brother's cry. He wanted nothing more than to go over to him and comfort him, but he couldn't do so if he wanted to keep Kíli alive. He hated this. It didn't help matters when he followed the Goblin's instruction, cutting his uncle deeply and slowly. It made him feel like his heart was being ripped from his chest as he watched Thorin's flesh twitch and saw him strain against the bonds in an attempt to distance himself from the blade. His uncle was in pain and it was his fault.

He wanted nothing more than to stop. To do as Kíli had done and drop the knife. Refuse to participate and take his beating for his refusal. But he couldn't. It wasn't his own pain and death that his refusal would bring, but Kíli's and he knew he couldn't live with that. So instead he tried to ignore his uncle's pain and do as the Great Goblin had ordered.

Thorin could see the warring desires in his nephew's eyes and even though he could no longer contain his cries of pain he tried to show Fíli that he understood why he was doing this and that he approved. Fíli was capable of making the hard choices he needed to. And Thorin knew that if he met his end here, in a goblin cave, at the hands of his nephew that Fíli would make a good King for their people.

Fíli saw the approval in his uncle's eyes and knew that he was not worthy of it. Even so, it helped. Thorin and Fíli were both united in their determination to keep Kíli alive despite the pain it caused them and having an ally made their tasks more bearable. Especially since both of them were able to convince themselves that even though it was Fíli's hand that held the knife, it was not his consciousness controlling it or his hands themselves that were inflicting the damage. He was a mere tool. Little comfort as it was, the knowledge did help.

Sadly for them, Kíli hadn't reached the same conclusion. He couldn't see Fíli's face and the anguish that was written across it as he spilled his uncle's blood. All he could see was his brother mercilessly slicing into his uncle and see and hear Thorin's pain. Kíli didn't understand it. He thought that Fíli loved their uncle like a father how could he just cut into him like he was. It made no sense to him and he found himself begging Fíli to stop.

"Fíli please!" Kíli called his voice high and shrill as he begged, tears running down his face. "You have to stop this! No more! You can't hurt him any more! Please!" At his words, Fíli's head drooped and his hands began to shake. It was everything that he could do to keep from turning around and yelling at his brother. This was hard enough for him to do without Kíli begging him to stop as well. He knew that what he was doing was wrong. He didn't need Kíli to tell him. But he couldn't stop, no matter how many times Kíli begged him to.

"It'll be alright lad," Thorin said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "You can explain it to him later. He'll understand." Fíli didn't have the heart to tell his uncle that he was afraid that he was wrong. Kíli loved Thorin. Seeing Fíli hurting their uncle . . . it was possible that Kíli would never forgive him.

"Uncle," Fíli whispered, his resolve cracking at Kíli's pleas and under the weight of his own conscience. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this up. His uncle was actually beginning to quiver, whether from pain or blood loss Fíli wasn't sure. In the back of his mind he had always known that Gandalf was going to come and save them like he had with the trolls, but for the first time he realized that it was completely possible that his uncle's words earlier had been true. This was rapidly becoming a choice between keeping Thorin alive or keeping Kíli alive. If Gandalf didn't get there soon, Fíli couldn't see a way that both of them would make it out of this alive.


	5. Fili Denounced

Luckily, or unluckily, for Fíli and Thorin the Great Goblin had also noticed the tremor beginning to go through the dwarf King.

"Stop," he called just as Fíli was about to slice into his uncle again. At his command, Fíli felt his shoulders droop with relief. Perhaps his part in this was about to be done as well. Maybe the Goblin would just keep switching dwarves until— _Until what?_ He asked himself.  _Until Uncle dies? He'll never tell the Goblin why we're here._  In the back of his mind he knew that he would never be so lucky as to be spared further participation in this. And if he was, it would be Kíli that was brought back up. He couldn't wish himself free at the price of his brother being forced to continue. Trepidation took the place of relief as he turned to face the Goblin and see what it was that he wanted Fíli to do next.

"He'll die before he tells us anything at this rate," the Goblin said looking at the blood coming from Thorin with what was almost distaste. "Stubborn dwarf. However, there are other ways to cause pain. Less bloody ways. Place the knife on the ground and kick it to me."

At his words a smirk crossed Fíli's face. The Great Goblin was afraid of him. "What?" Fíli asked innocently. "You don't want me to just hand it to you?" Despite the situation, he took a strange sense of pride in the fact that even outnumbered and with nothing more than a small knife the Goblin King was afraid of him.

"Just do as I say," the Goblin snapped hearing the amusement in the blonde dwarf's voice and not appreciating it in the least. He was rapidly deciding that he liked the dark one better. Despite the destructive potential of the blonde one, the dark one had been much less dangerous to have free. If it wasn't for the threat on his brother's life hanging over him, the Goblin had no doubt that he would not have been near as compliant so far. Perhaps he needed reminded of the stakes?

"Or do we need to involve your brother in this?" the Great Goblin asked cruelly. With a disgusted sneer Fíli dropped the knife and kicked it towards the Goblin. "I thought you might see things my way." It didn't matter that the dwarf knew that the Goblin was afraid of him. He would still do as he was told. There was no way that he could refuse. He couldn't fight them all. And if he tried, his brother would be dead before he could stop them.

"Continue," the Goblin ordered as one of his subjects handed him the knife. Fíli looked at him in curiosity, dread beginning to fill his stomach. He swallowed hard, trying to tamp down the nausea and fear. His breath was beginning to come in short gasps as he thought through it. The Goblin had just taken his weapon. What did he mean by telling Fíli to continue?

"I have no weapon," Fíli said his tone almost desperate, his voice breathless as he realized what was likely that the Goblin wanted him to do. He couldn't really mean to have Fíli  _beat_ his uncle, could he? No. it was impossible. He hoped that it was just an oversight on the Goblin's part. There was no way that he intended to force Fíli to subject his uncle—and King—to the indignity of having Fíli's fists used on him as though they were children having a fight. That was too much!

"You have your hands, do you not?" The Goblin asked, raising an eyebrow, his tone showing that he thought Fíli was an imbecile. "They will work well and produce very little blood." Fíli looked down at his hands, his expression confused and pained before he glanced up and looked around desperately as though searching for someone to save him. This was too much. He couldn't do it. There was no way that he could lay his hands on his uncle like that. He could still remember the one time that he had hit his brother and the lecture that he had received about how he was an Heir or Durin, not some common orc, and that he should solve his problems with words and that if words would not suffice it should be a severe enough matter to merit lethal weapons: fists were not tools of negotiation. He felt panic flood his veins. It was something that he had been raised not to do. Something that he couldn't do but at the same time something that he had to do.

As his desire to do as he had always been taught warred with his desire to keep his little brother alive, he sank to his knees, his head in his hands with the agony of his choice. This newest turn was more than his already raw nerves could handle. Would he be able to save Kíli's life at not only the cost of his uncle's but at the cost of his morals as well? This was too much to ask.

"No," he begged looking up at the Goblin. "Please. Don't make me do this. Anything else. Please."

"Fine," the Goblin said with a shrug and an evil smirk. He hadn't expected this to upset the blonde dwarf so. It was intriguing. He wondered what was behind his current distress. "If you can't do this for me . . . bring me the dark one."

"NO!" Fíli yelled that one word filled with more anguish than he should have been able to muster at his age. It ripped through his uncle and the other dwarves like a physical wound. Fíli should never have been put in this position.

Thorin watched sadly as Fíli knelt there a moment more, his breath coming in sobs, before rising to his feet, his shoulder drooping as though he were nearly three times his age. Once more, Thorin wished that by telling the Goblin why they were there he could end this for them all. And once more he was left feeling powerless at the knowledge that nothing he could say would get them out of this situation. Gandalf was their only hope and he was unquestionably late. If he didn't hurry he would be too late, if he wasn't already. The sound of Fíli's voice when he next spoke made Thorin believe that Gandalf was already too late for his nephew. He had never heard his nephew so broken before.

"No," Fíli repeated his voice little more than a dejected whisper. "I'll do it. Just leave him out of this. What do you want me to do?"

"Come with me," the Goblin said a cruel smile on his face as he grabbed Fíli by the upper arm and turned him to face Thorin once more. Now that Fíli was weaponless and defeated emotionally, he was more willing to take a more hands-on approach to the torture of the dwarf King. He didn't see where the blonde dwarf posed any real risk to him any longer.

"No." Kíli breathed seeing his brother facing their uncle again. He knew what the Goblin was going to have Fíli do and it was too much. Thorin would never be able to forgive him for this. "NO! Fíli you can't! Don't do this! Fíli!" The look of anguish on Fíli's face and desperation in his eyes at his brother's pleas were too much for Thorin.

"Kíli!" he snapped looking at his youngest nephew and seeing the same horrified expression in his face that was on Fíli's. "Let him do what he needs to. Don't let this," here Thorin growled a word in Khuzdul that shocked many of them. They hadn't ever heard him use  _that_  one before, "see that he's upset you. Be strong. Can you do that for me?" Kíli nodded attempting to swallow back his tears and hold his tongue. If his uncle could bear to have it done, surely he could bear to watch it. Though he couldn't understand how his brother could bear to  _do_  it.

"Thank you," Fíli breathed though there was no joy in his eyes at his uncle's mercy. Even though it wouldn't help to get them out of their current situation, Thorin's silencing of Kíli would make it more bearable. Fíli couldn't stand against both his own conscience and his brother's condemnation. With Kíli showing his displeasure at Fíli's actions, he would never be able to do what he had to do.

Thorin nodded slightly. He hadn't done much, not near enough, to help Fíli. He knew this was hard enough for the boy without Kíli interfering. He just wasn't sure how much longer  _he_ would be able to resist the urge to ask him to stop. His own resolve to endure what he needed to endure was beginning to be tested. Never in his life had he felt such pain. But for Kíli and the quest he would try to outlast it. All he could do was cling to the hope that either Gandalf would come soon or the darkness would claim him before he was reduced to a begging shell of himself.

"Enough of this," the Goblin spat. Even though few words had been spoken, he could sense that they had offered comfort to one another and that was unacceptable. He had been hoping that by using the nephews he would manage to turn them against one another, but that had not been what happened. Just as one of them had seemed to be on the verge of breaking, they found comfort in each other. He didn't understand it. Perhaps this would end that.

"Hit him here," the Goblin instructed pointing to the space of flesh just below Thoirn's ribs and making an 'X' with one of his claws. Glaring up at the Goblin for daring to touch his uncle and for forcing him to strike him, Fíli drew back and swung at his uncle.

"That was pathetic!" the Goblin criticized. "If you won't actually hit him I can bring the little one over and see if he can help us encourage you to do better."

"Fíli," Thorin ground out. "Just do it. Do it for Kíli." His heart almost broke at the tortured expression that flashed across Fíli's face before he closed his eyes and took a few sobbing breaths. He swallowed harder than before and nodded. He could force himself to do this for Kíli. He had Thorin's blessing and Kíli's well-being to keep him going. He kept his eyes locked on his uncle's, blue to blue, needing reassurance that it would be fine, as the next blow landed. Even though it destroyed him to see the pain flash through them, it helped because underneath the pain was the same gentle understanding that had always been in Thorin's eyes when he looked at his nephews. Even when he was angry with them, it had never left and this situation was no different. No matter how this came out, his uncle would understand. His uncle would not blame him, even if everyone else did. And that realization gave him strength.

"Again," the Goblin said, realizing that this time the boy would need guidance to complete his task. He only wished that he would have know how much more it would bother the dwarf to use his hands than it had to use a knife. If he had known, they would have made the switch sooner. Especially since he could see the tension that was in both of them at the muffled cries of the little one: cries that increased in volume with every blow the blonde one landed. He wasn't sure why something so bloodless would bother them more than the spilling of familial blood, but he now saw that he should have made the change much sooner.

"Here this time," the Goblin said stroking Thorin's cheek bone in a parody of a caress. The dwarf pulled away from the touch with a snarl and a curse. "So there's still some life in you after all," the Goblin said with a laugh before turning to Fíli and saying, "Do it."

"You bastard," Fíli snarled his previous anger resurfacing with the understanding that he had Thorin had reached. The Goblin raised an eyebrow at the curse, thinking it to be a refusal, and gestured for the goblins to bring Kíli. Kíli snarled as a goblin reached for him, looking all the world as though he was prepared to bite the first one that dared to touch him. Despite his pain Thorin had to smile that Kíli was beginning to fight back again.

"Don't touch him," Fíli snapped before closing his eyes and doing as he had been told. He let out a sob as his fist connected with his uncle's face. The shock of the impact reverberated up his arm. He glanced down at his knuckles, surprised to see blood there. He glanced at his uncle; Thorin's face had a red mark, but no blood. The blood on his hands was his own.

"Again," the Goblin said levelly. He watched with satisfaction as both of the brothers' faces twisted at the command.

Despite what he had said to his uncle, at the sight of Fíli about to strike Thorin again Kíli couldn't stop himself. "No, Fíli," he begged. "Don't do it! PLEASE!" With another anguish filled snarl, this one loud enough to almost drown out Kíli's pleas, Fíli struck again. He let out a different kind of cry as his fist made contact with Thorin's cheek once again, this time with a crack. He pulled his hand back against his chest, feeling a sharp pain as it moved and knowing instantly that it was broken.

"Again," the Great Goblin said, almost sounding bored. It was more fun for him when he hadn't had to dictate every move.

"I can't," Fíli gasped tears beginning to prickle his eyes as a deeper, more radiating pain began to move up his arm. "I think I broke my hand." The Goblin looked at him skeptically and grabbed the wrist of the arm in question, applying pressure to his hand. When he pushed in one place, Fíli could feel bone grinding together and his vision blanked out for a moment. When it cleared again the scream he could hear bouncing off the walls of the cave sounded suspiciously like his own voice. He couldn't remember screaming.

"It's broken," the Goblin said with a sigh before roughly releasing Fíli's hand and gesturing to a nearby goblin who handed the blonde dwarf a pole, about a foot long and as thick as Fíli's wrist. "That's too bad. That was an entertaining means of torture. I knew that you had a hard head, Thorin Oakenshield, I just didn't realize that it was  _that_ hard." Thorin snarled out another curse at the statement and the Goblin just smiled in response.

"Let's see how  _lively_  you are once he finishes the next stage, shall we?" the Goblin taunted leering at the bound dwarf King. Fíli eyed the pole in his hands nervously. What would the next stage consist of? Rather than explain, the Goblin King placed his hand on Thorin's uninjured shoulder, pressing deeply as though looking for something.

Seeing his chance for a little revenge for the pain that the Goblin had caused him, Thorin emulated Fíli and sank his teeth into the arm of the Great Goblin. Even when the Great Goblin pulled his arm away with a roar of pain and backhanded Thorin across the face he couldn't help but feel that he had accomplished something.

"What  _is_  it with you dwarves and biting?" the Goblin King asked massaging the spot where Thorin had sunk his teeth into his arm with a glare for both the King and Fíli. Dwalin and a few of the other dwarves chuckled at the idea that their King had just done something so undignified as bite someone, but they were pleased that he had managed to do damage even bound as he was.

"Hold his head," the Great Goblin snapped, incensed that the dwarves were now amused rather than upset. He was beginning to lose control of the situation. He would have to change that. Thorin snarled as he felt fingers thread into his hair, restricting his movement, before the Goblin's probing fingers returned to his shoulder.

"Ah," the Goblin said with a smile before cutting into Thorin's shoulder with a claw, leaving a red 'X.'

"Strike here," the Great Goblin said, turning back to Fíli once more, "and strike hard."

"How am I supposed to do that?" Fíli asked, his tone full of bravado once more. His uncle's rebellion had encouraged him. Just because he had to comply didn't mean that he had to make it easy. "My hand's broken."

"You seem like a smart lad, for a dwarf," the Goblin replied, his eyes narrowed in hatred as he realized the consequences of the dwarf King's bite. "I'm sure that you will figure out a way. I know that your brother will appreciate it if you will."

With a glare of his own for the Goblin, Fíli attempted to find a grip on the pole that enabled him to hold it without aggravating his broken hand before giving up. He was about to cause his uncle pain, it only made sense that he should share it.

"I'm waiting," the Goblin said with a pointed glance at Kíli. "And I am not patient, less so since your dear uncle decided to bite me. I would like nothing more than to return the favor by leaving such a mark on his kin." With a growl, Fíli did as he had been ordered and brought the pole down on the 'X' a cry to match his uncle's rising up his throat as the movement jostled his broken hand. When his vision cleared again he was startled to see that Thorin's shoulder had changed shape. There was now a strange knot where before there had been smooth muscle and his hand had gone limp.

"What did you just make me do?" Fíli snarled, turning to face the Goblin, holding the pole aloft threateningly. Even if he'd know that it was going to hurt his uncle he hadn't thought that it would break him. He allowed his hatred from himself to be channeled into hatred for the Goblin and could feel bloodlust beginning to stir within him.

"Ah, now you don't want to do that, lad," the Goblin taunted seeing the hatred burning in Fíli's blue eyes and enjoying the fact that he had caused it. "There are more than enough of us to subdue you before you could do any damage with that pole. Is striking me worth the cost to dear Kíli?" He glanced at his brother, his heart breaking at the betrayal in Kíli's eyes as he looked at him. Kíli hated him. The look in Kíli's eyes broke Fíli and he lowered the pole, hanging his head in defeat. His vengeance wasn't worth the cost of Kíli's life, even if Kíli never spoke to him again.

"I didn't think so," the Great Goblin said with a smirk. He wasn't sure what had passed between the brothers, but it had been nowhere near as reassuring to the eldest as had the glances he had shared with his uncle.

"What did you make me do?" Fíli repeated his voice edging towards desperation as he looked away from Kíli's accusing glare and back to his uncle. As painful as it was to see the damage he had done to Thorin's body, it was better than seeing the hatred in Kíli's brown eyes: eyes that had  _always_  looked at him with admiration . . . until today.

"What did I do to him?" Fíli asked, his voice filled with the tears that were not falling from his eyes. He couldn't believe that to save his brother's life he had been forced to lose him in another way. It was cruel. The Goblin didn't reply, but Thorin did.

"He had you dislocate my shoulder," Thorin panted in an attempt to reassure Fíli and let Kíli know that his brother hadn't done anything too bad. "It'll be fine. It's not the first time it's happened and probably won't be the last."

Fíli sighed in relief despite his own emotional pain. Even though he hadn't heard anything break he had been afraid that he had done permanent damage. Dislocated shoulders, while painful, were not permanent. It would heal.  _If_  they survived. His relationship with Kíli however . . . that damage may be permanent. The thought was almost enough to make him wish that he, at least, did not survive. He couldn't bear for Kíli to hate him forever.

"Not the first time, eh?" The Goblin asked oblivious to the mental anguish that Fíli was currently experiencing, distracted by the fact that Thorin was finally talking, nearly taunting him. "Have you ever had them both out at the same time?" With no more warning than that, Thorin felt his hair seized once more and again the Goblin's probing fingers were in his shoulder, this time the one that had the stab wound in it. As he searched for the joint, the Great Goblin took special care to make sure that he was applying pressure to the wound already present.

Despite the pain that it caused him, Thorin tensed the muscles his shoulder attempting to delay the Great Goblin long enough for Fíli to compose himself. It was working. Despite his probing, the Goblin could not find the edge of the joint.

"What? Can't find what you're looking for?" Thorin taunted hoping to enrage the Goblin and distract him for just a bit longer. It backfired.

"You're stalling," the Goblin King said understanding dawning bright in his cruel eyes. "But why?" Had the Goblin not have been touching him, Thorin's flinch would have been imperceptible, but as it was, he felt it. He turned to face Fíli, who was staring at Kíli once again, his expression begging his brother to understand while Kíli glared at him.

"I see," the Goblin said smiling again. Thorin felt self-loathing wash through him, momentarily overriding physical pain. Everything that he tried to do for his nephews backfired. He looked at Fíli, an apology burning in his eyes. He had failed . . . again.

"Kíli," the Goblin called, Thorin growled at the fact that the Goblin had  _dared_  to use his nephew's name, but Kíli jumped and looked at the Goblin anyway. "I have a question for you." Kíli eyed him warily. What question could the Goblin have for him? His uncle had told the Goblin that he knew nothing. Why would he ask him anything?

"What do you think of your brother's handiwork?" the Goblin King asked, his tone suggesting that it was no more than an idle question. He enjoyed the way that the curiosity in Kíli's brown eyes gave way to hatred.

"I have no brother," Kíli snarled glaring at Fíli as he spoke. "No brother of mine could do what he had done today. It's  _disgusting_!"

His words hit Fíli like a blow to the gut. Kíli had just disowned him. He didn't want to be his brother any more. He felt his hands go numb at the shock of it. Kíli, his sweet baby brother, the one person he had thought would  _never_  hate him, Kíli  _disowned_  him. He couldn't breathe. This was too much. He couldn't deal with this as well. Kíli couldn't have hurt him more if he had run him through. At least then Fíli would have known that the pain would stop. He felt his legs give out under him and a sob rise up his throat. He couldn't care less what the others though. Kíli, his Kíli, wanted nothing to do with him. He felt tears stinging his eyes, but they wouldn't come. It hurt too bad to cry. Everything he had done that day had been for Kíli's sake . . . and in the end . . .

"I think I broke him," the Goblin King said in a quiet voice to Thorin who was staring at the crumpled form of Fíli with his face blank. He couldn't believe that Kíli would say something like that to Fíli. The Goblin was responsible for tearing apart his family. At the thought, rage flooded Thorin's veins and gave him strength that even he hadn't know was there.

"Before this day is out," Thorin threatened darkly, his blue eyes molten with the force of his furry, "I will see your blood on the ground and laugh as I rend your head from your body."

"How will you do that when you can't swing a sword?" the Great Goblin asked before bringing the pole that Fíli had dropped down on Thorin's shoulder, dislocating it as well. "What say you now, O Great King?"

"There are many ways to dispose of  _filth_ ," Thorin ground out between teeth that were clenched against pain. "Without the use of my arms I will just have to get more  _creative._ " With a growl at Thorin's continued defiance, the Goblin nodded to someone behind him and suddenly the dwarf King's legs were no longer under him forcing his dislocated shoulders to bear the full force of his weight.

The pain of it was blinding and he scrambled desperately trying to get his feet back under him. He could feel the pain in his throat from the force of his screams, but he couldn't care in the face of the burning pain. Just as he would manage to find purchase, something would knock the foot off the ground and he would have to try again. Eventually, he was permitted to stand once more. He tried to regain control of his breathing and level a glare at the Goblin to show that he was unfazed, but even he knew that he failed.

"Do you still think that you can defeat me?" the Goblin King asked cruelly. "You who have no kingdom to call your own and only a rag-tag band of followers for subjects? I suppose that is a good thing: you can't even control yourself."

"I'd like to see how well  _you_ would be doing at this point," Thorin retorted. "I doubt it would be near as well. Everyone knows that goblins are weaker than dwarves." Even though he was prepared for it this time, nothing could truly prepare him for the return of the pain. This time, the goblins did not let him get his feet back under him. At the pain of it, he felt unconsciousness beckoning him, promising him a release from the agony. He gladly took the offer. The last thing that he saw before he allowed the darkness to take him was an exceptionally bright flash of light.


	6. Escape and Confrontation

As the flash faded, Fíli looked around in shock wondering what new torment the goblins had thought up. He nearly hoped that it would prove fatal for him. It would be easier than living with the memories of what he had done and the look in Kíli's eyes as he denounced him. Death was more tempting than trying to continue with the hatred that was directed at him from both around him and within him. Almost too tempting. So when a large hand closed on his arm and hauled him to his feet he didn't even resist or think to fight. He just hoped that it would be quick. But no pain followed; instead there was a relieved laugh.

"Fíli, my lad," Gandalf said clapping him on the shoulder. "I feared you were gravely injured. Quickly now! Free the others. We will have to fight our way out of this." Fíli's eyes darted to his unconscious uncle looking desperately for the Great Goblin as well and not seeing him. "I'll take care of Thorin, you free the others."

Fíli nodded regretfully. He wanted to ask the wizard to trade jobs but he didn't. It took everything he had to grab a couple of knifes—not one of them his own—from the pile where the goblins had placed them and charge toward the others, taking the time to stick one of the knives through the throat of the goblin holding his brother before cutting Dwalin's bonds and releasing him to rearm and begin reeking bloody havoc on the goblins and give him cover to continue freeing the others. It was a task he could focus on, something to distract him from his own anguish, the pain it caused in his broken hand briefly covering the pain in his soul. It was easier for him to focus on freeing the company one at a time, even taking the time to remove the gag from Bilbo's mouth one-handed, than it was to think about what was coming. He freed them all before he turned to the one that had had wanted to free first. The one that he knew didn't want him anywhere nearby.

When he moved to Kíli's side, as he had known that he would, his brother roughly pulled away from his touch before he could even grasp the rope that bound his wrists. Kíli's movement caused him to almost cut him and made him wish again that the goblins had just killed him. It was a far crueler thing for them to force him to endure his brother's hatred.

"Hold still," Fíli snarled, more angry at himself and the goblins than at Kíli—though Kíli had no way of knowing that. "I'll have you free in a moment. Now  _hold_   _still_."

"Don't touch me!" Kíli snapped twisting away from his brother again and jostling Fíli's broken hand in the process. Fíli cried out in pain at the touch to the tender flesh and almost wondered if Kíli had done it on purpose before he forced the thought away. Even if he hated him Kíli would never knowingly cause him physical pain.

"I'm trying to free you," Fíli said, trying to force his tone to be gentle when all he wanted to do was grab his brother and ask him how he could turn on him like he had. Didn't Kíli realize _why_  he had done what he had? "If you'll just hold still for  _one_  second—"

"I'd rather stay bound," Kíli replied acidicly turning to glare at Fíli, his voice little more than a venomous hiss. His eyes showed none of the warmth that Fíli had always enjoyed. They were as cold and hard as the stone that the brothers knelt on.

"You're a fool," Fíli snapped, tears filling his own eyes threatening to spill over. Shaking his head in disbelief that Kíli could truly hate him so, Fíli reached for him once again, only to have Kíli roll to the side rather than let him cut his bonds.

"And you're a coward," Kíli whispered, his voice barely audible in the chaos. "I can't believe that I used to want to be like you." Fíli almost launched himself at Kíli prepared to pin him down and  _force_ him to listen to reason but was stopped by Balin's hand on his shoulder. The older dwarf was smiling at him, a sad smile but one that showed that he understood why Fíli had done what he did.

"Give me the knife, lad," Balin said gently. "I'll cut him free and then we can get out of here. Go see how your uncle is doing." With a final pained glance at Kíli's hate-filled eyes, Fíli gave the knife to Balin and joined the battle, fighting his way to where he had last seen his uncle and Gandalf. Thinking back, he decided that he almost pitied the goblins that got in his way as he vented his frustration about the entire situation on them.

When he got to the posts, his uncle was no longer tied, but on the ground gently propped against one of them, the body of the Great Goblin—minus his head—on the ground behind him. Fíli looked around for Gandalf and saw that the old wizard was fighting as well, wielding both Glamdring and his staff with deadly accuracy, it almost seemed as though his staff seared where it hit.

Oblivious to the battle going on around them, Fíli dropped to his knees beside Thorin, reaching his left hand out gently—tentatively almost—to stroke his hair back from his unconscious face. But before he could make contact, Kíli was there, knocking his hand roughly away.

"You don't have the right," Kíli snarled his words almost lost in the fray. "You don't get to touch him any more than you can touch me. Not after what you did. I wouldn't be surprised if Uncle disowns you."

Fíli crumpled at Kíli's words his head resting on his knees as he struggled to deny the words. Was Kíli correct? Would his uncle want nothing more to do with him? Even though he had seemed to understand, would he feel the same as Kíli once the danger to Kíli was passed? Fíli couldn't breathe at the thought. His uncle couldn't hate him too! He looked around almost desperately for someone to tell Kíli that he was wrong but the others were all busy. He couldn't even draw enough air to sob. His breath coming in short panicked gasps. He couldn't breathe let alone refute the words. Again, a comforting hand came down on his shoulder.

Balin cringed at the pain, desperation and fear in Fíli's blue eyes as he looked up at him. He had known that what Fíli did had been difficult for him but he hadn't realized that it was this difficult. He also hadn't heard Kíli's newest denouncement. He thought his anguish was over the state of his uncle.

"It'll be alright, laddie," Balin said in a soothing tone as he drew the distraught dwarf into an embrace. He was surprised when Fíli clung to him and began to cry again. He couldn't ever remember seeing the boy cry.

"Now," Balin said, his tone a little more businesslike trying to encourage Fíli to focus on tasks that needed doing, "you need to rearm and grab your pack. We need to get a move on. I've already talked to Dori and we'll take care of Thorin. Go. It'll be alright." Fíli nodded and pulled back looking more like a small dwarfling than a fully grown prince.

"Why did you comfort him?" Kíli asked, distaste plain in his voice, he felt that  _he_  needed to suffer for what he had done. Balin, of all people, should see that. He was his uncle's oldest friend. He shouldn't be comforting someone who had done so much damage to his friend and King.

"Because he needed it," Balin replied, his voice nowhere near as gentle with Kíli as it had been with Fíli. He was equally fond of the boys but Kíli was out of line, it just wasn't his place to say so. They may have been cousins, but Kíli was not his to scold. He almost wished that Dwalin was the one dealing with them. Dwalin didn't care for propriety and might have attempted to shake some sense into the young prince.

"You too," Balin said. It may not be his place to criticize Kíli's behavior, but he could issue orders. He was Thorin's second-in-command and this was a company issue not a personal one. "Rearm and pack up. We're leaving." Kíli snorted at being forced into closer proximity with his brother, but did as he had been told.

Rather than dig his weapons out of the remaining pile, Kíli moved to where the goblins had placed their packs. He threw his on, forgetting in his anger his own wounds. When the pack made contact with the wounded flesh of his back he nearly collapsed from the pain of it. He felt a hand grabbing his arm, keeping him upright, but his vision had blacked and he had no idea who done it. When his vision cleared and he saw a blonde dwarf standing there, his blue eyes pained and pleading, he wrenched his arm out of his grasp.

"Kíli," Fíli said, his voice little more than a whisper, "Let me—"

"I've got it," Kíli snarled, growling out in pain as the pack shifted on his wounds. He  _would_  carry it. He had no need to accept help from  _cowards_. He moved to rearm before moving back to where the rest of the company had clustered in preparation for the final assault for freedom.

Fíli sighed before shouldering his own pack and following after his little brother vowing that he would stay close to him during the escape. Even if Kíli didn't want him there, he would still try to protect him. If Thorin  _did_  disown him, he would request the honor of being Kíli's personal guard. Even if they could never be brothers again, he couldn't bear the thought of someone else watching Kíli's back . . . someone that was only there out of duty rather than love.

By the time he reached the others, Thorin had been lifted onto Dori's back while Ori held his personal effects. His wrists had been loosely bound to help him stay there and his head lulled onto the other dwarf's shoulder rather pathetically. The sight of his uncle, who had always been so strong, so vulnerable cause Fíli's chest to constrict painfully and for his vision begin to dim.

"None of that now lad," Dwalin said stepping between him and his uncle and blocking Thorin from view. "We can't carry the both of you. We need you to fight. Can you do that?" Fíli took a few deep gasping breaths, then he nodded.

"Good lad," Dwalin replied quietly before clapping him on the shoulder affectionately. "Let's get some vengeance!" He called, raising his voice to include the rest of the company.

The answering roar showed just how angered the company was by what had been done to their leader and his heirs. The goblins did not stand a chance. All of the dwarves in the company had the capacity to be lethal on a normal day—even Kíli thought the Great Goblin hadn't realized it—now that they were enraged, armed and thirsting for repayment for the blood of dwarves that had been spilt in the currency of spilled goblin blood, they were beyond lethal. As they fought their way through the tunnels they left nothing in their wake save for mangled corpses and blood splatter.

As word spread that the Great Goblin was dead and that the dwarves and their wizard sought bloody revenge and were unassailable in the cluster they had formed, their path out of the mountains became cleared. Their last dash to the gate was an unimpeded one, the gate left open and unguarded as the guards had fled in fear for their lives. Goblins, after all, are not the bravest of things and when the choice was between being cut down by ferocious ire-filled dwarves or fleeing into the chaos that had been left in the wake of the death of the Great Goblin . . . well, it is easy to see why they chose the way they did.

Rather than be relieved that they were not having to fight for their lives, most of the dwarves were even more upset by this fact. They had wanted revenge, to see goblin blood painting the walls of the tunnels, and they were being denied it. Even so, as the rage faded, they realized that it truly was for the best. They had wounded to care for and neither Fíli nor Kíli were at their best. Young though they were, the two were good fighters and it was disadvantageous to have them crippled. Add to that the fact that Thorin was unconscious and unable to fight and also taking Dori from the fight; they realized that it was good that word of their ferocity had spread. Down four dwarves they could not have survived a full assault, no matter how strong their bloodlust.

Though the sunlight was weak, dawn just beginning to break, it warmed their hearts. They had survived their ordeal under the Misty Mountains. Now all that they needed to do was insure that the entire company did the same. The fact that the day was just beginning to dawn would help. The goblins would be unable to follow until nightfall. That would give them time to tend Thorin and the boys' wounds and still managed to put some distance between them and the goblins.

They found a decent sized clearing a safe distance from the mountains and took stock of their injuries and supplies. Other than Thorin, who was still unconscious, Fíli, who had broken his hand but had no other injuries to speak of, and Kíli's still unseen injuries the rest of the company was unscathed. Even Bilbo had managed to make it out unharmed.

"This is as good as it's going to get," Balin said with a sigh. "Dori, Nori, gather firewood. We'll need it. Bombur, try to find something to cook. I know that the ponies carried most of the food but we have to eat  _something_." It was that thought that gave him an idea. It was the perfect way to get the young ones and Bilbo away from camp so that they could tend Thorin's wounds—a task that would  _not_  be a pleasant one and one that they did not need to witness.

"Bombur, hold off on that," Balin corrected. "Fíli, Kíli, Ori, Bilbo, go see if you can find something to augment our supplies. Game, greens, I don't care what. We need to eat. Range out. We'll have startled anything nearby. If you feel up to it, that is."

"I'm up to it," Kíli said sharply. He was still ashamed of himself for how easily he had caved to the Goblin under the mountain and refused to let it be implied that he was weak. He was wounded, but not grievously so. He would hunt.

"At least let me look at your arm," Fíli said gently reaching for his brother's arm only to have it violently wrenched from his grasp. He continued resolutely reaching for Kíli. "You shouldn't leave it untreated for so long. Goblins are nasty creatures. It'll get infected."

"Don't touch me!" Kíli snarled glaring at Fíli dancing out of reach each time, his anger rising as each movement aggravated the wounds on his back. Even if the wounds themselves hadn't been Fíli's fault his continued pain was. He wished that Fíli would just stop. He couldn't bear to have him touch him and couldn't keep dodging him much longer.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Fíli said, seeing the pain and fear in his brother's gaze. "Just let me look at it. I only want to help."

"Like you  _helped_  in the caves?" Kíli asked viciously. His eyes were filled with tears as he glared at his brother hatred burning in their brown depths and displacing both fear and pain. "You sure did  _help_  Uncle! I don't need that kind of  _help_  from you."

"I didn't have a choice," Fíli whispered bitterly looking away from his brother. He had hoped that once they were safe Kíli would change his mind but it was clear that he hadn't. Fíli felt the little hope that he had allowed to begin to mend his heart dissolve and the pieces break apart again.

"You didn't try!" Kíli yelled, startling all of them. They had never heard the youngest brother raise his voice like that. Especially not to Fíli. The words had been so full of pain and hatred that it was almost unrecognizable as Kíli's voice. Perhaps he  _had_ meant the words that he had spoken in the caves. Perhaps he  _did_  hate Fíli.

"You just did exactly as you were told!" Kíli continued, tears in his eyes and his voice raged and harsh. He was heartbroken at what his brother had done to their uncle and it was clear in his voice. "You didn't even hesitate. Do you even  _care_  about what you did? I never would have thought that you were capable of . . . you almost  _killed_  him."

"I didn't have a choice," Fíli repeated his voice broken and his face expressionless. Having his baby brother hurling accusations at him after what he had just been through was too much. He couldn't handle this. Not on top of what Kíli had already said to him and what he had done to his uncle. It was too much.

If Kíli knew the pain that he was causing Fíli, he didn't care but just continued on with his tirade.

"You did too!" Kíli yelled moving closer to Fíli so that he could yell in his face. It was the closest that he had voluntarily gotten since Fíli had aided the Great Goblin but Fíli was not comforted by it. Kíli's eyes were burning with hatred still and Fíli didn't recognize his brother in the angry dwarf before him. For the first time in his life he was almost afraid of Kíli.

Then he said the words that caused Fíli's control to fray and threaten to snap. He hadn't intended to yell at Kíli, he had intended to win him back over with gentle words and kindness, but then his brother said the words that he had dreaded hearing.

"You could have refused," Kíli spat.

"I could not!" Fíli snapped his temper beginning to rise to the surface. Kíli had  _no_  idea what had happened there. He had no idea what choice he had been forced to make or the agony that it had caused him to make it. And at any rate, Kíli had participated as well. He had no right to judge Fíli for doing the same. Especially when Fíli had done it for Kíli and Kíli had only done it for himself. If anyone had a right to judge another it was Fíli, but he didn't. He understood. He understood that there were hard choices in life. He'd just made some of them.

"Why not?" Kíli asked cruelly, too enraged and hurt to see that he was about to make a grave mistake and push his mellow brother over the edge. Fíli, being older and having had more responsibilities placed on him from a younger age, had better self-control than Kíli did, but he had reached his breaking point. He couldn't handle anything else. Besides, Kíli already hated him. What need did he have to restrain himself? And once provoked, his temper rivaled and perhaps even eclipsed Thorin's and all of it was about to be unleashed on Kíli if he said anything else.

"Were you afraid of pain?" Kíli demanded his tone mocking. "I may not have succeeded, but I did at least try. That's more than I can say for you,  _Brother._  You were too cowardly—"

"THAT IS  **NOT**  TRUE!" Fíli yelled seizing Kíli by the upper arms and giving him a firm shake. The pain that the action cause him only served to feed his rage and spur him on. Kíli was an ignorant  _dwarfling_! How could he stand there and hurl accusations when he didn't know what had happened? Especially when he himself had caved after only a few blows!

"If my own pain was all that was all that would have happened I would have refused," Fíli snarled his face inches from Kíli's, rage and madness in his eyes. "And I probably would have outlasted  _you_. I am  **NOT**  a coward and I am  **NOT**  afraid of pain! I would have rather  _died_  that do what I did! Why can't you see that?!"

"Lies," Kíli spat glaring up at his brother. "You—" His words were cut off in a hiss as Fíli's grip on his arms tightened. There would be bruises with Fíli's fingerprints on his arms. Fíli saw the pain that he was causing his brother, but in the face of his rage he couldn't bring himself to care. Kíli  _would_  listen to him. Even if he didn't believe what he heard, he  _would_  listen. No matter what Fíli had to do to make it happen.

"I am many things,  _Brother._ A liar is not one of them. They were going to kill you," Fíli said harshly, giving Kíli another shake as his eyes filling with all the tears that he had refused to shed in the cave. Kíli was looking up at him with fear in his eyes. His brother was afraid of him. He felt his rage fade and his grip slacken as he continued speaking.

"If I refused," he said, sadness filling his voice, "they were going to  _kill_  you. I . . . I couldn't let them do it. I promised Mother. I promised Uncle. I promised myself. I couldn't watch you die! Don't you understand? If I hadn't have done what they asked, we would have had to watch you die."

"I couldn't watch you die, Kíli," Fíli repeated, his voice broken, and tears wetting his cheeks as he looked into the shocked face of his brother before roughly releasing his hold on Kíli and looking away. He couldn't stand to see the hatred that would be there after how he had grabbed his brother so aggressively. "I couldn't do it. Uncle knew. He knew what the Goblin threatened to do. He . . . he told me . . . he said, 'if they make you choose, choose Kíli'."

"What I did," Fíli said softly, his words barely audible even to Kíli. "What I did will haunt me forever. But Uncle and I, we did it for  _you_. He knew that saving you might kill him but we couldn't watch you die. I'm sorry. I'm  _so_  sorry that you had to see that. But I would do it again if I had to. Even if it would make you hate me forever. At least you would still be alive. Even if you don't want me around, I will always be here."

"I don't hate you," Kíli whispered looking at Fíli with tear-filled eyes. He hadn't realized that Fíli had done what he did for him. He could now see the pain in his brother's blue eyes and knew that Fíli had hated every moment of it. Seconds passed as understanding passed between them, then Kíli found himself crushed against his brother's chest, one of Fíli's hand buried in his hair along with his nose and the other around him. Fíli's hand on his back hurt, but he didn't say anything. He deserved it. The pain of it was only a minor thing in comparison to the pain in his heart at what they had just survived and what he had said to his brother. But they were alive and there was still a chance to fix it. Knowing this, he clung to his brother as they both wept in relief and regret.

"I'm sorry I called you a coward," Kíli whispered. "I didn't mean it. You and Uncle . . . you're the bravest people that I know. I'm sorry that I didn't understand." At his words, Fíli smiled, a sad humorless smile. A simple apology wasn't going to be enough. That Kíli could believe that he would do any of that willingly or that he could say what he had to him . . . it had hurt him. Deeply. An apology once the truth was revealed was not enough. This was not over. Not yet.

"I'm sorry that I shook you," Fíli replied his anger fading and being replaced by sadness once more. He still couldn't believe that his brother would disown him and say that Thorin would as well. He began to question if he had ever known Kíli. He hadn't thought him capable of such cruelty.

"Nah," Kíli waved away his apology with a wry smile. "I deserved it." He could see a guardedness in Fíli's eyes that had never been there before. They may be saying that they were sorry, but he could see that he had hurt his brother. No apology would fix the damage he had done. It would take time. He could see that Fíli was not yet done venting. He was done for now, but this was not over.

"True," Fíli said with a shrug his tone not nearly light enough. He wasn't teasing. He actually felt that Kíli had deserved to be shaken, and perhaps more. It was clear to them all that he was still angry with his brother.

"Are the two of you done?" Balin asked, his tone sharper than he meant it to be at what had been revealed. He had known that the Goblin had to have threatened Kíli, but he wasn't aware that it had been with death. For Fíli to do what he had done for Kíli while enduring not only his own conscious but Kíli's hate-filled words . . . that was too much and Balin couldn't help but feel angry with the youngest heir. Kíli should have known better than to doubt Fíli. None of the rest of them had and they weren't even his brother! And for him to change his mind so quickly . . . Balin didn't blame Fíli for his continued anger.

"We're done," Fíli replied, his tone level again and his words holding a finality that Balin had never heard in him. He had aged more in one night than he had in the last ten years. It should have never happened.

"Then get moving," Balin said with a nod, trying to keep his sorrow out of his voice and the pity from his eyes. "The sooner you leave the sooner we can all eat." The young ones turned to move into the forest Fíli and Kíli as far apart as they could be—by Fíli's doing this time—and still remain with the small group. He realized that someone else needed to go with them. If the brothers' emotions boiled over again and they started brawling Bilbo and Ori would not be able to stop them and even with a broken hand Fíli could hurt Kíli severely. That would do neither of them any good. Someone needed to go along that could separate them before any harm came from another argument. Balin was shocked at the realization. He had never thought that he would have to protect either brother from the other but now . . . he wasn't sure what to expect from either of them.

"Bofur," Balin asked quietly, "will you go with them?"

"Aye," Bofur replied, having realized the same thing that Balin had and jogging forward to catch up with them, positioning himself between Bilbo and Ori and throwing his arms around them with a smile and a "Figured I'd come along. Make sure that Bilbo here doesn't come back with all greens."

Balin watched them until they were out of sight and only once their voices had faded did he turn to the cluster behind him. Glóin and Dwalin had carefully removed Thorin from Dori's back and laid him on a blanket. Bifur had begun tearing spare shirts into bandages with Gandalf and Óin had begun laying out ointments. He looked at the wounds littering Thorin's body and sighed, almost wishing that he could have gone with the lads. This would not be a pleasant experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read the newest chapter! I would LOVE to know what you thought about it!


	7. Closing the Wounds

Despite his assurances that he could hunt, Kíli rapidly discovered that it was not true. His arm ached and when he had tried to draw his bow, the pain in his back had blinded and nearly floored him. He was useless. His only consolation was that Fíli was equally useless at this time. With Fíli's broken hand, he couldn't bring down game. He wondered why Balin had sent the two of them, useless as they were, when the company was in need of food. Bilbo at least had a purpose. He could identify edible plants, even Ori managed to bring down a bird with his slingshot. But Fíli and Kíli . . . Kíli suspected that they had only been sent to get rid of them.

His suspicions were confirmed a bit later when they had stopped to drink from a stream and he heard a cry rend the air from the direction of camp: his uncle's cry. Thorin was in pain. He tried to turn and go back, to help console his uncle or stop the others, he wasn't sure which, but was stopped by Fíli's good hand closing around his arm. He winced as his brother pulled him to a stop abruptly putting yet more strain on his abused back.

"No," Fíli said not noticing Kíli's wince and starting to walk again without releasing his hold on Kíli. "Let them do what they must. They got rid of us for a reason. Let them tend to Uncle and let me tend to you." Kíli nodded slowly. Even if he didn't particularly want to be stripped, he didn't want to argue with his brother. Fíli was already angry enough with him without him being difficult. Kíli tried to remind himself that Fíli only wanted to help before attempting to shrug out of his coat only to stop with a grimace of pain.

"Here, let us help," Bofur said gently. Kíli looked at him in thanks before he allowed Bofur and his brother to help him remove his clothing so that his injuries could be examined. The dark-haired brother flinched at his brother's sympathetic wince. Were his injuries that bad then? Fíli was still livid with him, if he was wincing, Kíli was almost glad that he couldn't see what the Goblin had done to him.

"Durin's beard, Kíli," Fíli gasped out. He was still angry with Kíli, but he felt guilty for thinking that his brother had caved too easily. Even though it had only been a few blows, the entirety of Kíli's back was a livid purple-black bruise. The places where his bones were nearest the skin—his spine and shoulder blades—the skin had broken under the pressure and was slowly weeping blood. He didn't understand how his brother was walking, let alone carrying a pack or trying to hunt. He reached out gently to stroke one of the cuts but pulled his hand back guiltily when Kíli let out a pained hiss and flinched away from him.

"You should have stayed at camp," Fíli breathed, horrified at his younger brother's injuries. Even though he hadn't seen his death, Fíli felt anger flood his veins as he wished a more painful death on the Great Goblin that he had to have gotten.

"I wasn't really given a choice, was I?" Kíli laughed, a mirthless sound that was filled with pain. Even though he attempted to mask it, Fíli could still hear it. "Balin as good as told me to go away."

"True enough," Bofur agreed, none of his characteristic humor present in his words. "But had he've seen this he wouldn't've. Perhaps we should take you back to him." It was nothing short of torture to force the lad to continue with them. Every step had to cause him pain and Bofur had no idea how to treat this. He was a toymaker, not a warrior. He wasn't even sure that Balin and Óin would know. These weren't war wounds, they were torture wounds. He would wager that none of the others had ever had cause to treat something like this either.

"No," Kíli replied, his stubbornness rearing its head once more. If Fíli could hunt with a broken hand and Thorin could endure hours of torture for him, he could hunt with a few bruises, no matter how much they throbbed as he moved.

"But, lad—"

"Give it up, Bofur," Fíli said, his voice hard, both from his lingering agitation with Kíli and his burning anger at what had been done to his baby brother. "Kíli never changes his mind once it's made up. Right, Brother?" Kíli looked at Fíli, indecision in his eyes. He wanted to agree with Fíli, knowing that stubbornness and conviction were admirable qualities in a dwarf, but he knew that it was a trap of sorts. Fíli was subtly calling him out on the abrupt change he had made just a bit earlier. Instead of replying, Kíli turned away, looking at the nasty wound on his forearm. The blood had clotted, matting the hair there and the wound below ached as he moved it. The skin already red and angry, but he supposed that was just a consequence of having been cut open.

"We may as well redress you, lad," Bofur said suddenly trying to break the tension that had risen up between the brothers. Even though he had been sent along as a referee he had no desire to do that job. "I don't know how to treat these injuries. We'll have to have Óin or Balin have a look at you when we get back." With a sigh, Kíli began redressing, stopping after he got his shirt back on. He couldn't bear the thought of moving his arms to put on the rest of his layers and it wasn't  _that_  cold out. He could carry the rest. It wasn't like he was actually hunting anyway.

With a despondent sigh, the hunters moved deeper into the woods, trying to ignore the sounds of anguish that were coming from camp behind them. When the sounds faded they weren't sure if it was because they had actually stopped, or if distance or something else entirely had muted them. Rather than resent being sent away, Fíli found that he was grateful. He wasn't sure how much more his nerves could take and seeing Thorin writhing in pain as his wounds were treated might have done him in.

**ooOO88OOoo**

The first thing that Thorin was aware of was the sensation of hands on him. He tried to knock them away and felt a rush of fear when his arms would not comply. Willingly stilling his reactions to save his nephews had been one thing, but to be unable to react was another thing entirely. Especially as he could feel no bonds on him. Why wouldn't his arms move? Slowly the memory of what had happened resurfaced—aided by the ache in his shoulders—and he remembered the Goblin dislocating his shoulders. He felt cold dread settle into his stomach, twisting it into knots. He was unbound, being touched by goblins and his arms wouldn't move. It didn't bode well for his continued survival.

Feeling panic begin to flood his chest, making his already difficult breathing all the more painful, he forced his eyes open, wincing at the brightness of sunlight before snapping them shut again. Sunlight . . . it meant that he was no longer with the goblins. Slowly his memories were returning to him. The bright flash. It must have been Gandalf. Which meant that . . . slowly he began to register the sound of voices. Voices he recognized.

"Hold him still, Brother," he heard Balin's strained voice say. "I don't want to do this more than once." He heard Dwalin grunt in agreement, and felt the arm that was around his chest tighten. He could also hear the voices of Glóin, Óin and Gandalf. But he didn't hear his nephews' voices. Did that mean that the boys . . . where were his nephews? Were they alright? That question was enough incentive for him to ignore the stabbing pain in his eyes and to force them open once more. He glanced around in panic, seeing many of the others but not Fíli or Kíli. They couldn't be . . . he swallowed convulsively at the thought he couldn't even finish, feeling his raw throat burn as it protested the abuse.

"The boys," he said surprised at the hoarseness and lack of volume of his own words. He only felt vaguely embarrassed at the panic that was clear in the raspy words. At that moment, his fear for his nephews was more important than his pride. "Where are the boys?"

"They're not here," Balin replied gently. Thorin felt a wave of pain wash over him that had nothing to do with his wounds. Balin's tone had been too gentle. He was trying to console Thorin. He bowed his head as he now knew then that they hadn't made it. They were still with the goblins. Even as he tried to stop, his mind conjured images of Kíli bleeding and he relived the memory of his nephew's desperate pleas amid cries of pain. His desires to see his boys alive once more warred with his desire for them not to be in pain. If they were still with the goblins, they would be in pain unless they were dead. There was no way that he could win.

"We have to go back for them," Thorin said his voice desperate as he tried to get his feet under him and stand but Dwalin's arm around him restrained him, an iron hold that he fought desperately and futilely against. "We can't leave them there. Even if . . . we at least . . . we need to recover the . . . the bodies." The words burned as they came up his throat and he felt as though they had drug his heart up with them. He didn't care that his voice had broken or that there were what could be seen as tears in his eyes. It didn't matter. Even though he knew it to be true, he couldn't believe that his boys, his precious  _reckless_  boys, were dead.

"Calm down, Thorin," Dwalin said, his gruff tones almost soothing, which broke Thorin's heart even more. If  _Dwalin_  was trying to soothe him, the boys were truly lost. He was so distraught that he almost missed the warrior's next words.

"The lads are fine," Dwalin promised. "We just sent them and all the young ones on an errand. They'll be back."

"You sent them . . ." Thorin said slowly slumping back against Dwalin, his relief causing him to feel weak. They were alive. He allowed a small smile to cross his face and a pained laugh to pass his lips. The boys were fine. They weren't dead or dying. They had made it out safely. He would get to see them again. Euphoria took the place of anguish, and Thorin was almost giddy with it, until Balin's next words doused his relief like hot iron placed into cool water.

"We didn't think that they needed to be here for this," Balin said, regretting that he had to remind Thorin of what was to come or of what he and the lads had suffered. "The poor lads are traumatized enough already and this will not be pleasant." Thorin nodded, his smile fading along with the joy that had been in his eyes. He knew that Balin was right. No matter how much he wanted to see them and see for himself that they were unharmed it was better that they be elsewhere while his wounds were treated.

"Let's get this over with before they get back," Thorin said closing his eyes in anticipation of yet more pain. He wasn't sure how much more he could bear, but this  _had_ to be done. It could not be put off until he was ready or it might be too late. Balin nodded, seeming to sense his reluctance, and grabbed Thorin's arm to prepare to pop it back into socket with an apologetic half-smile for his King. Thorin tried to return it but knew that he had failed when Balin grimaced.

"On the count of ten," Balin said looking levelly into Thorin's blue eyes. The King clenched his jaw and swallowed but nodded curtly. "One . . . two . . . three . . ." As Balin counted Thorin did everything that he could to relax. He knew that they would never make it to ten but he wasn't sure when Balin would decide to do it. The move came on seven: a quick motion that left Thorin breathless for a moment before he began to breathe rapidly through his teeth in an effort not to cry out, an effort that wasn't helped as the increased depth and rate of his breathing pulled on clotted wounds painfully.

"That wasn't ten," Thorin panted with a wry smile on his face as the tide of pain faded once more to a dull ache and he trusted his voice to at least be audible.

"No," Balin agreed. "It wasn't ten. Does it work?" Balin asked nodding at the arm he had just reset. Thorin moved it gingerly. It answered his call, painfully, but it answered all the same. Even though he knew that Balin had seen it move, he nodded all the same.

"Good," Balin said, his eyes losing the slight sparkle that they had possessed only moments before. "Now for the other one." He stood and walked behind Dwalin seating himself into position to relocate Thorin's other shoulder.

"Don't bother counting this time," Thorin growled. "I'm not a child. Just—" His words cut off in a strangled sound of pain as Balin popped his arm back into place. He glared at his old friend and was slightly amused when Balin shrugged in response. Again Thorin moved it carefully and cringed as it ached. But it moved and it was going to ache either way. At least this way he would have limited use of it.

"Thank you," Thorin said looking at Balin. Even though the other dwarf had hurt him in the process, it had been necessary. He was of no use to anyone with both of his arms out of socket. Even with them back in, it would be some time before they were back to normal. He only hoped that they could avoid getting into another situation like the one under the Misty Mountains until he had at least healed enough to wield a sword.

"Don't thank me yet, Thorin," Balin replied seriously. "We still have to treat the rest of your wounds. The lads really did a number on you. Fíli especially."

"He didn't have a choice," Thorin snarled harshly. He knew that there had been no condemnation in Balin's words, but he would not even allow the  _idea_  that his nephews were responsible for this in any way to be suggested. They had done what they had to do. Even though they had hurt him, he was proud of them. Both of them had made difficult choices and he would not allow them to be judged on them. He already intended to have words with Kíli about what he had said about his brother. No one—not even the boys themselves—would be permitted to blame them for this.

"We know," Dwalin growled, anger at the goblins coloring his words. He couldn't believe that  _bastard_  had threatened Kíli's life to force Fíli to comply. That fact alone made him wish they would have had the time to kill him in a more appropriate fashion. His death at Gandalf's hands had been too quick. There had been no pain. He probably hadn't even known that he was dying before it happened.

At Thorin's confused look, Balin explained. "The lads had it out while you were still unconscious," he said quietly, his eyes pained. "Kíli had some harsh words for his brother and Fíli reacted in kind. They're . . . they're upset by this. Fíli . . . you'll just have to see him for yourself. I think the sight of you conscious will help him. Poor lad. Though they . . . you'll just have to see."

"But the sight of us tending your wounds won't help him," Glóin said his voice abnormally tight. "We need to get this over with. I'm not sure how much longer they will be gone. It'll only take them so long to find food."

"Do it," Thorin agreed. He knew that the cleaning of his wounds would be painful and that some of the ones Fíli had left, as well as the stab wound in his shoulder were deep enough to need cauterizing to stop them from bleeding so that they could continue to travel, since camping on the doorstep to Goblin Town was out of the question. There was no way that he would be able to endure  _that_  in silence. This needed to be done before the boys returned.

"We have to clean them," Balin warned more for himself that the King. Thorin had seen enough wounds in his time to know the order of things. "We have no water so we'll have to use—"

"Just. Do. It," Thorin ground out. He didn't need them to coddle him. He would have preferred to treat his wounds himself but they were too numerous and he knew that he could not clean and close them alone. Balin didn't say anything, but he did look at Thorin with regret and pity before he uncorked the flask in his hand.

"Would you like a drink before we start?" He offered, his tone making it clear that he hoped that Thorin would take it,  _lots_  of it. As the King shook his head, Balin sighed. He nodded to Glóin who grabbed one of Thorin's arms and his shoulder to restrain him while Dwalin shifted slightly to grab the other and move his own arm out of the way. With no warning other than a weighted glance at Óin, Balin and Óin began their work.

Thorin tried to curl in upon himself as the first of the alcohol poured into the cuts on his chest but was restrained by Dwalin and Glóin's hands on his arms and shoulders. Almost worse that the sting of the alcohol was the rasp of the cloth as Balin and Óin worked in tandem to clean off the blood that had dried on his skin and better see the wounds. He clinched his jaw in an attempt to keep from crying out only to feel Dwalin lightly slap his face.

"Open your mouth," the warrior growled. Thorin opened his eyes to see Dwalin holding out a strip of leather. "Can't have you breaking teeth in your stubbornness. Now bite this instead." Thorin nodded and bit down savagely on the strip of leather. No sooner had he done so than Balin probed one of the deeper wounds causing a cry to rise up his throat. A cry that was muffled by the leather. It was only the first of many as the cleaning continued.

By the time they decided that his wounds were clean enough, Thorin was exhausted. He had been through too much in the past day and his ability to endure it was long gone. His head drooped forward and his breathing was rapid and shallow. His blue eyes were half lidded and clouded with pain.

"We're almost done, lad," Balin said, his voice strained. He swallowed hard before he continued speaking. What they had to do next was going to be worse for Thorin than simply cleaning his wounds had been. They now had to close the deepest ones.

"Almost done," Balin said placing a hand on the king's face in an attempt to comfort him. Thorin didn't even show any sign that he had heard Balin's words or felt the touch. The white-headed dwarf's hands shook as he took the heated sword from the fire. He could only hope that Thorin's lack of coherency extended to his ability to sense pain because there was no easy way to do what now had to be done and if it didn't . . . this was truly going to hurt.

"Almost done," Balin said once more, this time in an attempt to reassure himself more so than Thorin who didn't seem to be lucid anymore. Even without lucidity, Thorin cried out as the sword was pressed to his flesh and though Balin flinched at the sound, he kept the sword pressed firmly against the wound. A task that was made even more difficult since Thorin struggled in vain against Dwalin and Glóin in an attempt to get away from the searing pain. They held him tightly, knowing that it was for his own good, even though it broke their hearts to do so. Especially when he began begging them to stop or to just let him die.

They continued in this manner for some time: Balin searing the deeper wounds to stop the bleeding alternating swords in the fire so that he didn't have to wait overlong between wounds, while Dwalin and Glóin restrained the king and Óin added salves and bandages to the newest burns. They knew that it would be more humane to have Óin wait until Balin was done, but they wanted to be done with this grizzly task before the young ones returned. They didn't need to see the angry burns left by the crude treatment they had been forced to use.

"Just one more, Thorin," Dwalin said harshly. It had been hard on him to watch his king and friend so broken. Thorin was a proud dwarf and to see him reduced to tears and begging by pain that they were inflicting on him, it was hard for the warrior to watch. He wasn't sure if it was better that Thorin had grown to weary and hoarse to beg any more, his pleas reducing down to mere sobs and whimpers that were almost worse for the dejectedness of them.

"Last one," Balin agreed approaching Thorin with a heated dagger. He had left the wound in his shoulder for last, hoping—as had happened—that Thorin would be too exhausted to react overmuch when he pushed the heated dagger into the stab wound. If Thorin bucked it would cause more damage than good, potentially widening the wound or even severing the muscle.

"Hold him tight lads," Balin said hoping that they would be able to restrain the king. With a deep sigh, Balin pressed the knife into the wound flinching as Thorin found the strength to scream out once more before falling silent as he passed back out of consciousness.

Balin's hand was shaking as he began to remove the dagger from the wound. He tried to still it, knowing that if he wasn't careful he would cut Thorin himself, but the more he concentrated on making it stop the worse the shaking grew. He was about to close his other hand around it and still it manually, when Dwalin's hand covered his own, the touch surprisingly gentle, and helped him to remove the dagger smoothly.

Balin nodded his thanks before smoothing some of Óin's salve over the wound and wrapping the final bandage around it. He helped Dwalin to gently lay their unconscious king on the makeshift bed before placing his hand on Dwalin's shoulder and resting his forehead against his brother's. He couldn't imagine being forced to make the decision that Fíli had been forced to make that day. He still felt the need to protect his younger brother. Not that Dwalin needed his protection much anymore, but they had been young once and he had been bigger for a time. There were nine years between them and he could still remember the night that Dwalin had been born. He'd been such a small thing. Things had changed, Dwalin was a giant of a dwarf now, but Balin knew that he would have done exactly as Fíli had if it meant saving his brother's life. He would give his own life if that was what it took to insure that Dwalin survived.

Even though the words were not said, they didn't need to be. Dwalin understood. A small smile on his face, he placed a hand on the back of Balin's head, attempting to comfort him. He understood the turn that his brother's thoughts had taken because his own had gone the same direction. Even though he was younger and society placed no burden on him to protect Balin, he would do anything that it took to save him pain. That was why he had such difficulty understanding Kíli's words. They may not have had as long together, as they were younger—Kíli barely more than a dwarfling—but they were also closer that Dwalin and Balin had ever been, what with only being five years apart rather than the more standard nine. Kíli should have known that Fíli had not wanted to do it. Dwalin would  _never_  have assumed that Balin would do something like that for no reason and Kíli should not have assumed it of Fíli. If Thorin didn't have words with the lad—or perhaps even if he did—Dwalin intended to: one younger brother to another.

They broke apart after far too long a time, fully expecting that the others would be staring at them strangely for their uncommon show of emotion, but they had all paired off as well.

Óin and Glóin were sitting together, heads abnormally close and Glóin was rebraiding his brother's beard. Dori and Nori, who seemed most days like they would like nothing more than to throttle the other, were sitting side-by-side near the fire touching from shoulder to hip as though they needed to reassure one another of their continued presence and solidarity. What had happened in the cave between Fíli and Kíli had affected them all. They all questioned what choice they would have made in that situation, especially in the case of Fíli. It was no wonder that the poor lad was changed. He had been given the worse choice imaginable: the choice between a father—which is what Thorin  _truly_  was to him—and a brother. No one could come through that unchanged.

The somber atmosphere of the camp was not broken when the boys in question and the others retuned with food (a couple of hares, a bird of some kind and some wild produce) which they gave to Bombur before turning to Thorin, the boys' desire to see their uncle overriding their hunger.

"How is he?" Fíli asked, his eyes tight and his tone showing that he dreaded the answer. He had heard his uncle's cries of pain and knew that they had come from his wounds being treated. He looked at his uncle carefully. Thorin was asleep, but his face was not relaxed. Pain still pinched his features and small moans came from him as he breathed. Most of his torso was covered in bandages, some with blood already beginning to seep through, and he looked inexplicably small, much smaller that Fíli remembered him being. He didn't know much about wounds of this magnitude, but he could guess that it wasn't a good sign that his uncle was in pain even while unconscious.

"He'll be alright," Balin replied placing a hand on the young heir's shoulder and giving him a small smile. "He's strong. We've treated his wounds. He'll survive this, you'll see." Fíli didn't seem convinced. All he could see was his uncle's pained expression and see the way his breathing hitched. The reassurances of Balin almost fell on deaf ears.

"Why is he still unconscious?" Fíli demanded. He may be young, but he knew that his uncle had been unconscious for too long. It was a bad sign and didn't bode well for his recovery. Even if he had been awake enough to cry out while he was being treated, the lack of consciousness now made Fíli worry, especially as restless as Thorin seemed.

"He's just resting, lad," Balin said, squeezing Fíli's shoulder gently. "He was awake a bit ago. He's worried about the two of you." Fíli gave a small humorless laugh in reply. That was his uncle. Thorin could be on his death bed and the first thing he would worry about would be something other than himself.

"What did you tell him?" Kíli asked his voice thin and tentative, almost as if he was reluctant to remind them that he was there. "Does he know about . . ." he couldn't bring himself to mention the fights he had had with Fíli. Now that the truth was out he was terribly embarrassed at what he had said. He wasn't sure that he could bear to have his uncle know what he had said to his brother. He still couldn't believe that he had believed Fíli capable of torturing their uncle for his own amusement.

"Aye," Balin replied, his eyes hard. "He knows." He saw as the Kíli's shoulders drooped but couldn't bring himself to feel too much remorse for telling Thorin what had happened when he was unconscious. If Dwalin had ever said to him what Kíli had said to Fíli . . . to be honest, Fíli's response had been quite tame in his opinion.

"But enough of this," Balin said, his tone showing that he would take no debate on this as he looked at the youngest heir of Durin. "We've already tended to your uncle, now it's your turn. Let me have a look at your wounds."

"They've already been looked at," Kíli replied stubbornly. He had no desire to have his wounds bared to the company when there was no need. "Fíli and Bofur already saw them." It wasn't truly a lie. They had seen them, even if they hadn't actually done anything for them.

"Even so," Balin replied taking the young dwarf by the hand and leading him over to the fire, "I would like to look them over." Kíli looked to his brother for help but Fíli just shrugged. In all honesty he was relieved that Balin wanted to look his brother over. They had looked at them, but they hadn't  _done_ anything about them. He hadn't known how. Even the smaller scrapes he or Kíli had had as children had been treated by his mother or his uncle. He had never needed to do it and he had no idea how. He had felt helpless.

"Just let him look, Kíli," Fíli said, his tone cold. He didn't understand Kíli's reluctance to have his wounds treated. They had to pain him. Did he want them to get infected? It wasn't like Balin was going to hurt him more than he had to and even their uncle had submitted to be treated. It wouldn't shame Kíli. He was just behaving immaturely again.

"It won't hurt anything," Fíli added as an afterthought.

"Traitor," Kíli called, but there was no real heat behind the word. He was teasing Fíli. And it caused a smile to creep onto the faces of most of the company. Even if both boys still had a haunted look in their eyes, it was a good sign for their recovery that they would be teasing one another. The only ones that didn't appreciate the word were Fíli—who flinched despite the gentle tone it had been delivered in since he had as good as heard in it a much less kind tone not long ago—and Balin and Dwalin. The older two did not see it so much as teasing as a flippant outlook on the pain that he had caused his brother that he would use that  _particular_  word after accusing Fíli of hurting Thorin without cause.

"Are you sure that you don't want to look at Bilbo?" Kíli asked desperately, trying to shift the focus of the group away from himself. "He's got some nasty looking scraps on his hands. Or perhaps Fíli. His hand is still broken and unset. Surely that is more critical than my wounds."

"Their turn will come," Balin replied his tone clipped. He knew that it was wrong of him, but he couldn't help the fact that at the moment he had little patience for Kíli's antics. "But right now it is yours. Either you help me in removing your shirt or Dwalin will help me take it off you." Kíli looked at Dwalin in panic—surely he wouldn't!—but Dwalin crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. Kíli felt his shoulders droop and winced at the movement. Dwalin would help. There was nothing to do for it. He would have to comply. With a deep sigh and a grimace against the pain that he knew would follow, he began to try to remove his shirt for the second time that day.

"That's a good lad," Balin said with a fond smile, even if he was irritated with him at the moment, he really was fond of Kíli. The boy really was like his uncle in more than just appearance and his grudging acceptance of their aid showed it clearly. "I knew you'd see things our way." Balin had to allow himself a small laugh at the glare and sneer that followed his words. He only regretted that Thorin hadn't seen it. That had been a glare worthy of the king himself.


	8. Setting the Bones and Opening Fresh Wounds

Despite his efforts to comply with Balin's order, Kíli found that he truly couldn't do it. He tried, oh how he tried, but every angle he could think of to pull his shirt over his head resulted in unbearable pain. He looked at the older dwarf that he almost saw as a second uncle and shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed in defeat. "I-I can't do it. It hurts too much and I-I just can't do it."

At his words, and the sight of his tear-filled brown eyes, Balin felt remorse flood through him. The only reason that he hadn't moved to help the lad had been that he had thought Kíli was being deliberately slow to show his protest of the treatment. He hadn't realized that the boy wasn't delaying but was actually unable to do remove his shirt alone. Kíli had been struggling in pain and Balin had stood there and watched. A wave of self-loathing flooded through him and when he next spoke his words were gentle. Before him stood a scared, hurt and upset dwarfling, not some malicious villain. He didn't deserve Balin's frustrations with him any more than Fíli had deserved Kíli's words earlier.

"It's alright, laddie," Balin said his voice comforting as he touched the young dwarf's hand since he wasn't sure if Kíli would be comforted by a touch to the shoulder. "Would you like me to help you?" Kíli said nothing, but nodded, his eyes sad and bitter tears still clinging to the lashes.

"I can do that," Balin said, feeling tear prickle his own eyes. Fíli, Thorin, Kíli, they had been through too much that day. Even Thorin had broken under the pressure. If someone who had seen and experienced as much as Thorin had crumbled, what chance did Kíli, who had never left home before, have? The lad should never have been in that position and even if it had been unavoidable, he should not now have to suffer the ire of his company.

"Dwalin, will you help me?" Balin asked, calling his brother over. The warrior nodded and took his place behind Kíli to help remove the shirt. It had to come over his head and there was no way to do it without Kíli lifting his arms.

"Lift your arms," Dwalin ordered gruffly. "We'll just slide it right over and be done with it." Kíli nodded at the order and complied, small sobs and gasps coming from him as he did. Dwalin fought the urge to roll his eyes. The boy couldn't be  _that_  injured. He'd taken, at most, ten blows and they had been through his clothes. True, there was blood on his shirt, but it wasn't all that much. Dwalin's movements were not particularly gentle as he removed the lad's shirt, not realizing that care was actually needed.

However, as the shirt was peeled away and the bruising underneath revealed, Dwalin felt the blood drain from his face and instantly repented of his harsh thoughts and treatment of Kíli. The only spots that weren't bruised black were the places that were red from the blood seeping out. In all his years the warrior had never seen such bruising.

"Oh, Kíli," Dwalin breathed, the same tone that he had used when trying to comfort Thorin earlier, one that Kíli had never heard from the warrior before. Much like he had been with his brother, Kíli was suddenly glad that he couldn't see his back. "I'm so sorry, lad. Had I have known I would have been more gentle." His tone shocked Balin and he came around Kíli to see for himself what would cause Dwalin to pale.

"By Mahal," Balin breathed. How was the boy standing let alone trying to hunt or carry a pack? He had no business doing either of those things. He should never have left camp.

"You said that you could hunt," Balin said, his words clearly showing his distress.

"I didn't want to disappoint you," Kíli said, his words quiet filled with tears. "I didn't want you to think I was weak, not after . . ." he trailed off. His weaknesses that day were too numerous to list. From  _begging_  the Goblin to stop, to turning on Fíli . . . he knew that he was weak; he didn't need everyone else to know it as well. That was why he hadn't wanted to have his wounds tended. He should have had the strength to do it himself. His uncle would have in his position.

Balin wanted to say that Kíli could never disappoint him, but it wasn't true. He had been disappointed in the way the lad had treated his brother. Instead he sighed.

"What's done is done," Balin said, as much to himself as the younger dwarf. "Let's do what we can to get you cleaned up. I'm afraid there's not much to be done for bruises and you're just going to have to wait for them to heal. But the cuts need cleaned and I need to make sure you haven't broken anything. I'll be as gentle as I can, but this is going to hurt. We have no water to boil, so we'll—"

"There is too water!" Kíli cut in. He knew that the only other alternative was alcohol and it would hurt—no  _burn_ —more than the water would. "We found a stream. That way!"

"A stream?" Dori asked while the rest of the company perked up. A stream meant stew—more filling that roasted meat—and a bath.

"Yes," Kíli continued, his voice desperate. "That way!"

"Come with me," Bofur offered. "I'll lead the way!" Even though only a few of them—those filling water skins or filling the pot—truly had an excuse, soon everyone was gone from the clearing, save for Bilbo, who no one noticed, Balin, Dwalin, Óin, Glóin and the heirs of Durin.

"Good," Balin said with a smile. "We didn't need an audience for this. Have a drink, lad." Balin offered the same flask to Kíli that Thorin had refused earlier and Kíli drank gratefully, hoping that the strong spirits would dull his pain.

"Good lad," Balin said with a smile, pouring a bit of the liquid onto a cloth. "Let's get started."

"But shouldn't we wait—"

"They're not coming back, laddie," Balin said. "Not until they're sure we're done. They don't want to watch this any more than I want to do it or you want me to. No, they'll be gone a good long while." His eyes flicked away from Kíli's face and suddenly Dwalin's hand was around his unhurt wrist and he was being pulled gently but firmly against the large warrior, where Dwalin held him despite Kíli's whimpered protests at the pressure the position put on his wounds.

"I am sorry, lad," Dwalin whispered in his ear, his tone showing the truth of his words. "I know I'm hurting you but this will be easier if you don't move away. I  _have_  to hold you here. I'm sorry." Kíli never had a chance to reply, because Balin's hand had grabbed his other wrist and then there was fire in his veins as the alcohol met the wound. Kíli screamed and tried to move away from the fire, but Balin's unrelenting hold on his wrist and Dwalin's hold on him would not allow it.

After what seemed like an eternity to all of them, Balin deemed that the wound on Kíli's arm was clean enough and stopped. Even once the cloth was gone, the burn of alcohol remained and it was some time before Kíli's sobs subsided. By that time, Balin had already wrapped the wound and was looking at him with sad eyes. The next part would not be pleasant either. As Dwalin shifted his hold on Kíli so that Balin could check the wounds on his back, the thought suddenly crossed Balin's mind that if he never again had to patch up the heirs of Durin it would be too soon. As it was, their cries of pain at the things he had been forced to do to them would haunt him forever.

He exchanged a glance with Dwalin, trying to borrow some strength from his brother for what he was about to do. With a sigh and a hard swallow, he reached forward and began probing the wounds on Kíli's back to check for breaks in his ribcage. The anguished sound rising from the young dwarf caused Balin to flinch, but he continued on. Even once Kíli began to beg him to stop, he searched. This was for Kíli's good, no matter how much it hurt them both in the process.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Fíli watched Balin begin working on his brother and fought down the urge to go and comfort him. He would only be in the way and Kíli was in pain, which made him vicious even when it was only a little thing. He remembered when they had been children and Kíli had fallen out of a tree, bruising his shoulder and spraining his wrist. He had howled like someone had stabbed him when Óin had treated the wounds, Fíli standing there to try to distract him from the pain. At the time he had smiled at the barbs that Kíli had thrown his way. He knew that his brother hadn't meant them, he was just hurt and needed to lash out. Now, however, after what Kíli had already said to him, he wasn't sure if his nerves could stand the things that his brother might hiss in his pain without thinking or if Kíli could stand what he might say in return.

So he stood and watched, wincing as Kíli cried out in pain and feeling guilty, not only because he could do nothing to help him, but also for the bruises that he could see encircling Kíli's arms where he had grabbed his brother earlier. Kíli might have been wrong in what he had said, but even through his hurt and anger, Fíli couldn't help but think that, perhaps, he had been wrong to grab his brother so.

He jumped when he felt a hand come down on his shoulder and felt his stomach twist as he turned his head to see Glóin's red hair. Now he knew why they had stayed. His turn wasn't going to be after Kíli: it was now. He could feel fear tightening his chest. They were going to set his hand. It was going to hurt.

"Can't this wait?" Fíli asked desperate to stall the pain as long as he could. He offered the only explanation that he thought would get him out of it for a time. "Kíii needs me." He felt Glóin's mirthless laugh as the other dwarf grabbed him just a Dwalin had grabbed Kíli, his good arm held against his chest by both of Glóin's and his back pressed firmly into the older dwarf.

"We both know that you have no intention of going over there, lad," Glóin said as he pulled the younger dwarf flush against him. "Besides, the sooner we get the two of you patched up, the sooner we get to eat and the sooner the two of you can start making up." Fíli slumped in defeat at his cousin's words. There really was no point in putting it off. It was going to hurt no matter when they did it. They may as well get it over with.  _Maybe I'm wrong about the pain,_  he thought desperately.  _Maybe Óin knew some way to set breaks painlessly?_ It sounded foolish even in his own head; even so, he couldn't resist the urge to ask.

"Óin?" Fíli asked nervously as the old healer approached him. The older dwarf looked at him and saw what was undeniably fear in the Fíli's blue eyes. "This is going to hurt, isn't it?"

"Aye, lad," Óin agreed with a sad nod. It would do him no good to lie to the boy "That it will." Fíli bit his lip. He had been afraid of that. He still remembered how it had hurt when the Goblin searched for the break. He hadn't been able to contain his scream that time, or even think, through the pain. He knew that this time would be no different.

"It'll be alright, Fíli," Óin said gently, placing a hand on the frightened young dwarf's shoulders. "The pain will be intense, but it will pass and this has to be done."

"It's not the pain, not really," Fíli tried to explain his fear that he would disgrace himself by crying out. Kíli was younger, little more than a child, his lack of composure was understandable, but he . . . he was Thorin's heir and an adult . . . sort of. The rules that applied to him were different that the rules that applied to Kíli, they always had been. Not that he resented his brother for it, or his Uncle or Mother. They had always tried to be fair; it was the rest of the dwarf world that had done it. Ever since they were children people had expected more from him than his brother. He was expected to act like a prince of the line of Durin even if there was no throne for him to ascend to. What was about to happen . . . his behavior would not be a credit to his line.

"It's . . ." Fíli tried again to explain it, but was unable to form the words.

"Oh, lad," Óin sighed understanding what Fíli couldn't put into words. "Don't worry about crying out. I've been a healer for longer than you've been alive. I've seen it all. From new babes to old warriors. When pain rides them harshly none can restrain their cries. I have been pled with, bargained with,  _threatened_. There is nothing that you can do that I have not seen. You need not worry about that. There is no shame in it."

"But is it not a weakness, crying out?" Fíli demanded. He had been raised from a young age with the belief that dwarves did not cry, not in public. And that a true dwarf, let alone an heir of Durin, had control over himself at all times. Crying out in pain was not being under control, no one had ever said it, but he knew it to be true.

"Perhaps normally," Óin replied sagely, "but in a sick room, no. And none here would think you weak even if you do, lad. We saw what you did today. I know you won't want to hear this, but the worst moment of your life gained you our respect. You cannot now lose it, especially not for crying out while a bone is set."

"Besides," Glóin added from his position behind Fíli, "the others all went to the stream. All that would witness it are your brother and your cousins. And we will never tell. We won't even tell your uncle." At their reassurances, Fíli nodded and closed his eyes, trying to brace himself for the pain. When Óin touched his fingers, the pain that had faded to a dull ache flared to new life and sent a line of fire up his arm to his shoulder. He felt a whimper rise up his throat and he attempted to pull back only to be stopped by the solid bulk of Glóin.

The healer didn't apologize for what he was about to do, but it didn't stop the feelings of remorse he felt as he began to feel for the break. No matter how many times he heard cries of pain, he never got used to it. Even so, he tightened his hold on the younger dwarf's wrist as Fíli struggled to pull it away and stop the molten pain now radiating up his arm. Óin knew when he found it. Even if he hadn't felt the bone move, the strangled cry that came from the blonde heir would have told him. But he didn't even flinch at it, though it broke his heart to force the boy to endure his probing fingers as he searched for more breaks. Fíli had been lucky. There was just the one and it was a fairly easy set. He grabbed Fíli's middle knuckle and pulled away from his wrist to allow the bone to realign, trying to block out his scream, before flattening out his hand and binding sticks under the palm to keep it that way.

With the hand immobilized, Óin felt along the bone and was satisfied that it was set before he wrapped it more firmly with the bandages they had made to attempt to protect it from being jostled. Fíli was leaning heavily on Glóin, his breathing coming in short, quiet sobs.

"You did good, lad," Óin offered. "You did good."

"That he did," Thorin said gently. They all jumped at the sound of a quiet, hoarse voice from beside them and turned to look at their King, who was currently sitting up supported by their hobbit with a cross between a smile and a grimace on his pale, bruised face. Thorin had woken to their cries and the hobbit had helped him to sit—after reassuring the panicked king that his nephews were alive, well, and being treated not tortured.

"He did very well today," Thorin said, thinking of everything that Fíli had done and how well he had risen to the situation. Fíli had done very well indeed. As had Kíli, though Thorin sighed as he recalled what Kíli had said.

"Uncle!" Fíli cried, overjoyed at seeing his uncle sitting up and awake. Glóin didn't try to restrain him as he dropped to his knees beside his uncle, for a moment it seemed that he would draw him into a hug but then he thought better of it. Instead, he placed his good hand in his uncle's hair and pressed their foreheads together gently, his eyes squeezed tight against the tears that threatened to flow.

"I'm so glad that you are alright," Fíli whispered, his voice choked with tears. "I thought . . . I feared . . ." He couldn't bring himself to say that he had thought that he had killed his uncle.

"I'll be fine," Thorin promised and Fíli felt him flinch as Kíli's screams started again while Balin probed his wounds. " _Mahal_! I cannot bear that sound," Thorin's words were almost a sob and he suddenly seized Fíli, mindless of his own injuries and crushed his nephew to his chest as if he needed to reassure himself that they had survived and would continue to do so. His fingers clutching at Fíli's shoulders were painful and were sure to leave bruises, but Fíli said nothing, too glad that his uncle was alive and had the strength to hold him in such a way after all the pain he had experienced and the blood he had lost.

**ooOO88OOoo**

After what seemed like an eternity, Kíli was treated and bandaged, though he remained shirtless as the prospect of lifting his arms again was too much for him. Once he was sure that the lad could stand on his own, Dwalin released him and allowed him to make his way over to his uncle and brother. Kíli's legs shook, but they held him and as he tottered over, the rest of the dwarves exchanged meaningful glances and followed the rest of the company to the stream.

Bilbo saw them leaving and realized that they were trying to give the small family a little alone time. He hastily stood to follow them only to be stopped.

"Halfling," Thorin called, looking at him with an unfathomable expression on his face and emotion in his blue eyes. "I want to . . . I wish to thank you. You took a great risk in attempting to aid us with the Goblin. You had no need to get involved yet you did. Much like with our quest in general. I now see the kind of hobbit you are. I have been unnecessarily harsh with you and for that I apologize. Gandalf chose wisely in naming you as our fourteenth member. If you do nothing else on this quest you have already earned your reward by my accounting. Thank you."

Bilbo sputtered a moment, his face going a bit red before he waved the thanks away with a fond smile at them, "I just did what I needed to," Bilbo replied. "I did what I could to help. I'm sure that any of you would have done the same for me. As I recall,  _you_  took a great risk to save me, and a good deal more successfully than I managed, I might add. We're a company. That's how companies work, is it not?"

"That it is," Thorin agreed with a smile. "And you are correct.  _We_  are a company. Even so, thank you." Bilbo nodded in acceptance of the dwarf King's thanks and turned to follow the others to the stream. Thorin watched him go, wondering at the strange creature that had come on the quest with them. But soon his mind was occupied with other thoughts, like the fact that Kíli was still standing and looking down at them with longing in his eyes and a torn expression on his face.

"Kíli," Thorin offered, thinking that they boy just needed an invitation, "come, lad. Join us." His sharp eyes didn't miss the twitch around the eyes of the oldest when Kíli used his shoulder to help ease his passing to the ground or the way that Fíli moved away from his brother as soon as Kíli sat. This was what Balin had meant. Fíli was still angry with Kíli. Not that Thorin blamed him . . . it was just unexpected.

"Kíli," The king said, his soft voice filled with censure. The boy flinched at the tone. He had heard it before. He uncle was going to lecture him for what he had done. He knew that he deserved it, but he was already feeling fragile and knew that he couldn't stand to hear it. Not right now.

"Kíli's already apologized to me, Uncle," Fíli said, but unlike when he had interfered in the past, there was no comforting arm around his brother, no soft reassurances. His tone was cold, showing clearly that the apology had not been enough and forcing Kíli to give another would not change that: no apology would ever be enough. Kíli fought back a sob at his brother's coldness and felt anger rise within him to combat the anguish he felt at it.

"Be that as it may," Thorin replied, arching a brow at Fíli's tone, "I still feel that I should tell him that his behavior was unacceptable. He should never have spoken to you in that manner. There was no need for it. Kíli should have known that—"

"That what, Uncle?" Kíli demanded. He had been angry with Fíli, but now Thorin's words fanned the flames of his anger and it burst out in a new direction, leading him to interrupt his uncle. "What should I have know?"

"That Fíli and I were doing what we needed to do to keep you safe," Thorin answered, his own voice hard. Kíli had never questioned him before. It was unlike him, especially when the answer was obvious. "That we were protecting you."

"And how was I supposed to know that?" Kíli demanded, tears in his eyes again. He had  _never_  yelled at Thorin before and doing so now—when his Uncle was already wounded—broke his heart but it had to be said. His pride demanded it. They, at least, needed to understand why he had thought what he did.

"Was I supposed to guess it? How was I supposed to know?" Kíli continued.

"You should have known because it was  _me,_ " Fíli said glaring at his brother. "Why else would I have done it? I love Uncle just as much as you do. If the Goblin hadn't threatened to kill you . . . you should have known it would take something like that to force me to hurt him."

"Why should I have had to guess? Why didn't you just tell me?" Kíli asked. "Did he forbid it?" The sheepish look on his brother's face answered the question. The Goblin hadn't forbade it. Fíli just hadn't thought that he needed to know. And neither had Thorin. Why hadn't they told him? Did they think that he needed to be coddled?

"I didn't think so," Kíli snarled his own thoughts feeding his rage. "You didn't tell me. That was your choice. It's not my fault if I misinterpreted things because  _you_  didn't give me all the information. Instead you tried to shield me from it. The fault does not lie only on me, Brother."

"Kíli," Thorin began, a warning in his voice. The boy was coming dangerously close to blaming his own words on his brother and Thorin would not allow it. They may have erred, but Kíli had chosen his words himself. Fíli had not put them into his mouth. "We did what we thought was best."

Kíli scoffed in reply. "What you thought was best nearly got you killed," Kíli snapped, still surprised that he had the gall to criticize his uncle. "What would we have done if  _you'd_  died? I know that you were stalling for time. I could have helped."

"Kíli," Thorin growled but the boy was too far gone to listen to the warning.

"They weren't going to kill me quickly," Kíli insisted. "It would have bought us time. I could have endured some of it."

"No," both Thorin and Fíli snapped. The idea of seeing him in pain and hearing worse screams than they had just endured making their tones hard.

"Why not!?" Kíli demanded his brown eyes wide and his voice frantic. "I'm a member of this company as well. And as you've said  _many_  times, Uncle, the quest is more important than any individual dwarf and as far as dwarves go, you and Fíli are more important than me."

"Kíli—" Fíli tried to say only to be cut off by a coarse gesture.

"I'm not done yet," Kíli ground out. "You are more important. You are the king and his heir. I'm just an extra. Everyone knows it. You didn't protect me through your actions. Do you know what you actually did by sheltering me  _again_? The others  _hate_  me now. Because of what I said. All of them. I saw it in their eyes. They see me as an ungrateful dwarfling, not the warrior that I am."

"Your words were your own," Thorin argued, upset by Kíli's accusations. They hit too close to home. "You cannot blame us for the consequence of them."

"No," Kíli agreed. "But I can blame you for not giving me the information I needed to avoid them! I'm not a dwarfling, Uncle. If you only intended to coddle me, you should have left me at home."

"I wanted to," Thorin replied shortly, his own words terse do to his fear that he may have cause his nephew difficulty through his actions. "Your mother insisted that I bring you if I wanted to bring Fíli. He had to come, so you had to come as well."

At his uncle's words, Kíli's eyes filled with tears. He had only feared it, but now he knew it. He had only been brought because Fíli needed to come. No one actually wanted him here. With a last, shattered look at his uncle, Kíli forced himself to his feet and ran from them, ignoring the way that his wounds throbbed and Thorin's anguished voice calling him back.


	9. Desperation, Despair and Reassurances

"Your words were your own," Thorin argued, upset by Kíli's accusations. They hit too close to home. "You cannot blame us for the consequence of them."

"No," Kíli agreed. "But I can blame you for not giving me the information I needed to avoid them! I'm not a dwarfling, Uncle. If you only intended to coddle me, you should have left me at home."

"I wanted to," Thorin replied shortly, his own words terse do to his fear that he may have caused his nephew difficulty with the company through his actions. "Your mother insisted that I bring you if I wanted to bring Fíli. He had to come, so you had to come as well."

The moment the words left his mouth, Thorin regretted them. They had come out much more harshly than he had meant them to due to his own pain. The sight of the abject hurt on Kíli’s face and the pain and betrayal in his brown eyes made Thorin feel as though someone had ripped his heart from his chest. Kíli had _never_ looked at him that way before, even when he had been scolded as a dwarfling. He had looked as his uncle as though Thorin had just run him through.

“Kíli, I . . .” Thorin breathed as he tried to reach for him, but his wounds made him slow and before he could get a grip on his nephew, Kíli was on his feet and running into the woods. “Kíli, wait! I . . . “ Thorin tried to push himself to his feet but his injured shoulders wouldn’t support his weight and he fell back to the ground. The sudden movements caused his wounds to throb and he could feel that some of them had reopened because of his exertions.

“Fíli, help me,” Thorin said sharply, panic in his eyes as he saw Kíli disappear into the forest. He knew that they needed to stop him, Kíli was upset and injured and alone. They needed to stop him before he became even more injured. He couldn’t understand why Fíli hadn’t stopped his brother himself. But that was irrelevant at the moment. Now that he had made it to the woods, they had to retrieve Kíli before anything else happened to him. Thorin had to make this right, much like with the consequences of Kíli’s words to Fíli, anything that happened to Kíli because of what Thorin had said would be his fault. Thorin couldn’t live with himself if Kíli died before he could apologize. It couldn’t happen. Not again.

“Let him go, Uncle,” Fíli sighed placing a hand on the older dwarf’s arm to stop him from trying to rise again. He didn’t understand his uncle’s panic. Kíli would be fine. The goblins, if any were coming, wouldn’t leave their mountains until nightfall. “You’re not in any condition to be chasing him through the woods. It won’t do either of you any good at the moment.”

“Neither is he,” Thorin argued, shrugging Fíli’s hand off and attempting again to get to his feet and falling back with a cry of pain as one of the cauterized wounds on his side cracked open. “We have to go after him,” Thorin said desperately, looking into Fíli’s hard blue eyes, and wondering where the coolness had come from. If it had come from Kíli’s harsh words, was that same coldness what Thorin could expect from his youngest nephew when he did return? The prospect of it made Thorin’s chest hurt. He couldn’t bear it if Kíli, his sweet little nephew, grew to hate him for his own words.

 “I shouldn’t have said that,” Thorin said desperately, trying to convince Fíli to help him once more,  
“not like that. I _need_ him to understand. It wasn’t because I didn’t want him here that I tried to leave him at home.”

“Uncle,” Fíli said gently, placing his hand on his Uncle’s arm again, his eyes sad at the fact that Thorin, who had always been so strong and so sure of himself, was unable to even get himself off the ground or to even attempt to mask his desperation. “Let him have a bit to cool off. This was a difficult day for us all and . . . give him some time. He’ll come back.” With a sigh, Thorin settled back on his makeshift bed. As little as he wanted to admit it, he couldn’t do anything without Fíli’s help and he couldn’t compel his nephew to do it and even if he _did_ get to his feet, he wasn’t sure that he could ever catch Kíli. He closed his eyes with a growl of frustration. He hated feeling helpless.

“I’m sorry,” Fili said, stroking the bruised side of Thorin’s face gently. He still couldn’t believe that he could have ever put a bruise on his uncle’s face. He knew that his apology, just like Kíli’s, was insufficient for the harm that he had caused, but he had to try. “I . . .”

“Don’t apologize,” Thorin said, looking up at Fíli with a sad, tired smile. “None of this was your fault. I don’t need or want your apology. This _was_ _not_ your fault.”

“But, Uncle,” Fíli sobbed, his head in his hands, “I did this. I’m the reason that you couldn’t go after Kíli. I’m the one who . . . it’s my fault that you . . . I can still feel it. The feeling of your skin parting under the knife in my hand, shedding your blood. I don’t . . . I can’t . . . I don’t think that I can ever forgive myself, Uncle,” Fíli said looking up at Thorin with tears pouring down his cheeks.

“I can’t ever forget what I did,” Fíli whispered his voice so broken that the words were almost inaudible.

“Then don’t,” Thorin replied, locking his eyes with his nephew’s. “If you can’t forget it, then remember it. But don’t just remember the action. Remember _why_ you did it. Let that motivation give you the strength to endure the memory. And there is no need for you to forgive yourself. You did nothing wrong. You did what you had to do, what _I asked_ you to do. You followed orders. If you have to hate someone for what happened, hate the Goblin who put you in that position or hate me for forcing you to remain in it.”

“But you weren’t responsible for it either,” Fíli argued before he realized that actually it had been Thorin’s fault. If his Uncle would have just told the Goblin King why they were there then none of them would have been tortured. He would never have been put in that position in the first place. It could all be traced back to his uncle.

Thorin flinched internally as he saw Fíli’s eyes harden as he put the pieces together and cursed himself again. It seemed that no matter what he said to his nephews it came out wrong. Why had he pointed that out? Fíli might not have ever seen it if he hadn’t have said that.

“Why?” Fíli asked suddenly, his voice as cold as his eyes. “Why didn’t you just tell him _something_? It didn’t have to be the truth. Why couldn’t you have just told him that we were going to visit Dáin or something? Anything?!”

“I didn’t want to lie,” Thorin answered honestly. “Not even to a goblin. I may not have much left in this world but I still have my word. I couldn’t bring myself to lose that as well.”

“But you did lie to the Goblin!” Fíli said, seizing on the shortcomings of his uncle so that he didn’t have to look at his own.  He knew that it was weak to do so, but his only other option was to examine his own actions and he wasn’t ready for that just yet. “When he asked what you said to Kíli, you lied to him.”

“There was a good reason for that, and it was only a small lie,” Thorin explained. “I couldn’t tell him what I had actually said to Kíli, it would have only put him in more danger. I couldn’t very well _tell_ the Goblin that I didn’t want to see Kíli harmed, could I?”

“And how was that less of a lie than telling him that we were traveling to visit Dáin would have been?” Fíli demanded.

“Fíli,” Thorin sighed, closing his eyes wearily. He didn’t feel up to this conversation at the moment and it was clear that Fíli would not let it go until he was satisfied. He always had been a tenacious thing, even as a child. Generally it was an admirable trait, but when all Thorin wanted to do was sleep, it was not.

“It wouldn’t have mattered, lad,” Thorin sighed trying to justify his actions so that Fíli would leave him in peace for a moment. He wanted to forget about what had happened under the mountains, not have his heir say the exact things that he had tormented himself with, no matter how correct they were.

 “He wouldn’t have let us go, even had I have answered his question,” Thorin continued, knowing that it was a weak excuse even as it left his lips. He also knew that it was most likely true as well. The Goblin would not have freed them to continue on their merry way no matter what explanation he offered for them being in the Misty Mountains.

“How do you know?” Fíli demanded, giving voice to the nagging part of Thorin’s own mind that had questioned his decision to remain silent since he had made it. “He might have. But we’ll never know because _you_ didn’t try. We might have been able to escape without any of this. I wouldn’t have had to hurt you and Kíli . . .  he wouldn’t have . . . “ Fili couldn’t bring himself to tell his uncle how deeply Kíli’s words had wounded him. But it turned out that he didn’t need to.

“He wouldn’t have broken your heart,” Thorin finished for him a small, sad smile on his face again. “Don’t look so surprised. Did you forget that I used to have a younger brother as well? Frerin and I were once like you and Kíli. We were inseparable. If you saw one of us, the other wouldn’t be far behind and if you _couldn’t_ see the other, it was time to be nervous because it meant that one of us was up to something and that the other was involved as well. You look like him, you know? Sometimes . . .” Thorin trailed off, unable to tell Fíli that sometimes just looking at his blonde nephew made his heart ache with longing for his brother. Fíli didn’t need to carry that burden; it was for Thorin alone.

“Anyway,” the King continued, clearing his throat to choke back the tears that were threatening to rise, “I know that what Kíli said hurt you. But . . . trust me; you don’t want to let this come between you. Life is too short to let harsh words said in pain and during a time of stress come between you.”

He may have been speaking of Fíli and Kíli but in his mind he was replaying the last words he had exchanged with his brother.  The last thing that he had said to Frerin had been harsh, unnecessarily so. They had fought over something _foolish_. Thorin couldn’t even remember what they had fought over, but he could still remember the look of pain in his brother’s brown eyes and the quaver in his voice as he replied to Thorin’s words:

 _“You think you’re so much better than me because you are the first born,”_ _Frerin had said. “But you’re nothing but a fool, Thorin. I can’t believe that I used to look up to you. I’m ashamed of you. I can’t believe that we are actually brothers. I want nothing more to do with you. ” When he had finished speaking, Frerin had stormed out of Thorin’s tent, not even glancing over his shoulder as he walked into the darkness._

_“I’m not sure that we are!” Thorin had yelled at his brother’s retreating form, his anger and pain at the words causing him to lash out. “No brother of mine could be such a coward! I’m glad that you are done with me because I never want to see you again!”_

Those had been the last words that they had exchanged. The next morning had been the beginning of the Battle of Azanulbizar. Frerin hadn’t survived. Not even long enough for them to make their peace. He had already been dead when Thorin had found his mutilated body on the battlefield and the last thing that Thorin had said to his little brother had been cruel. He didn’t want things to end that way for his nephews. Neither of them needed to carry that pain for the rest of their lives.

“But, Uncle,” Fíli asked, breaking Thorin out of his depressing musings. “What he said . . .”

“I heard him,” Thorin said. “I heard what he said to you.” The words had twisted the knife in the wound that had never healed in Thorin’s heart—so close were they to the words that Frerin had spoken to him—he would have never predicted that Kíli would say them to Fíli. Part of his anger at the Goblin had come from the fact that he _knew_ what hearing those words felt like. And the Goblin had pressed until Fíli was forced to hear them.

Thorin tried to fight down his own pain, Fíli needed him. “He may have said them,” Thorin said quietly, thinking of how he had felt after he calmed from his fight with his brother. He had wanted to apologize, but his pride had stopped him. “But I can promise you that he regrets them. And you know as well as I do that he didn’t mean them, even at the time.”

“He sounded like he meant them,” Fíli muttered darkly. “And they _hurt_ , Uncle. More so because they were true. No self-respecting dwarf, Heir of Durin or not, would do what I did today. None of them would cut into their fa-uncle to save their brother. I was weak.”

“No,” Thorin argued. He hadn’t missed Fíli’s slip. He had always known that was how the boys saw him, even if they had never spoken of it. He and Dís had raised them as a couple, both providing whatever they needed—be it comfort, food, or even discipline—and he saw them more as sons than nephews, even if they weren’t actually _his._ He still remembered the confusion in Kíli’s eyes the first time that he had heard Gimli call Glóin “father” rather than “uncle.” His young mind couldn’t understand how two people that were serving the same function could bear different titles.

“Talk with the others if you don’t believe me,” Thorin promised. “Every dwarf here would have made the same choice in your position. I swear it.” Rather than speak, Fíli offered him a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I hope you’re right, Uncle,” Fíli whispered, his blue eyes drifting tiredly closed. There had been too much stress, too much sadness, in the past day and as the adrenaline faded from his veins, weariness was beginning to take its place.

“Come, lad,” Thorin said quietly, scooting sideways with a pained grunt to make room for Fíli on the pallet. “Rest.” Fíli looked at his Uncle warily, worried about aggravating his wounds, before he lay down beside him.

“It will all work out, Fíli,” Thorin promised, even though it wasn’t a promise that he could actually make. “It will all work out.” Fíli said nothing, but his unbound hand reached over and tangled in his uncle’s dark hair as he had often done as a child when he had awoken from a nightmare, his hand resting against Thorin’s neck and the gentle pulse of life there soothing his raw nerves. Slowly the eldest son of Dís drifted off to sleep, his uncle’s ragged breathing in his ears and bitter tears of remorse in his eyes.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Kíli wasn’t sure how far he had run when the pain in his back forced him to stop but he knew that it was not nearly far enough. He could run forever and it wouldn’t be far enough. His uncle’s words continued to ring in his ears. _“Your mother insisted that I bring you if I wanted to bring Fíli. He had to come, so you had to come as well.”_ To have his own fears confirmed from Thorin’s own lips, and for his uncle’s tone to be so cold. He hadn’t known that words could cause such a real physical _ache_. His chest felt as though someone had grabbed his heart and was squeezing it. It hurt.

He fell to his knees, sobs rising up his throat. He was worthless. His uncle didn’t want him. Thorin was the one person he looked up to and couldn’t bear to disappoint and he didn’t _want_ him. He saw Kíli as a burden, necessary baggage to allow him to bring the brother that he wanted. More than anything that had happened that day, this crushed Kíli. He wished vehemently that his mother hadn’t have insisted that he come. Being left at home couldn’t have hurt worse than knowing that he had only been brought because he _had_ to be. It was impossible. And if he’d been left at home, Fíli never would have . . . he wouldn’t have said what he did to his brother. It would have been better for everyone if he hadn’t have come.

He laid there for a time, wallowing in self-pity and anguish, crying out his frustration and pain. He knew that he was not behaving in a way that was befitting a member of the line of Durin but he didn’t care. Thorin had as good as said that Kíli was an extra. The rest of the company thought that he was a failure. He had even managed to disappoint Balin! Even if every single one of them walked in on him crying in the forest like a babe he didn’t see where he could damage his reputation any further. Even so, he jumped when he heard a voice.

“He didn’t mean it, you know?” Gandalf said, looking down at the distraught dwarf with soft, sad eyes. “Your uncle, he didn’t mean what he said.”

“He meant it,” Kíli replied with a bitter laugh. “You don’t know my uncle very well if you think that. He never says anything that he doesn’t mean.”

“Yes, he does,” Gandalf sighed. “He tried to follow you.” Kíli looked away from the wizard; he couldn’t stand to see the pity there. “He regrets his words.”

“No,” Kíli whispered. “He only regrets that they’re true. They’ve always been true. I’ve always known it, even if I tried to pretend that I didn’t. I’m only an extra to him. He has Fíli. He doesn’t need me.”

“That is not true,” Gandalf said gently, kneeling beside the upset dwarf and placing one of his hands on Kíli’s. “Even I know that is not true. I have not spent much time with you and your family, but in the time that I have, I have seen that he loves you.”

“Not as much as he does Fíli,” Kíli argued stubbornly refusing to admit that Gandalf was correct. “He didn’t even try to see my side. He just took Fíli’s. Just like he always does. He loves him more.”

“Are you sure that’s why he sided with Fíli this time?” Gandalf asked, looking older than before as if he knew something about Thorin that Kíli didn’t—which he did. “Is it possible that he had another reason for it? I may not have seen what happened in Goblin Town, but I did hear some of what was said between you and your brother and the others after we escaped. And from what I heard, what Thorin did . . . I would almost argue that his actions showed that he loves you _more_ than he loves Fíli.”

“How do you figure that?” Kíli asked, his expression one of speculation and his eyes showing his confusion. He couldn’t see where Gandalf had gotten _that_ idea from. Thorin had been so cold to him since they had escaped. Kíli had heard the kind words that Thorin had said to Fíli, and their uncle’s first words for _him_ were words of condemnation. That hardly showed that he loved him more than Fíli.

“To protect you, he nearly destroyed your brother. And he may have accomplished it,” Gandalf said levelly, his tone and eyes hard. “I saw Fíli’s eyes when I saved the lot of you. He is broken, Kíli. He may give the appearance of being whole, but inside . . . when I pulled him to his feet, he was prepared to die. He thought I was going to kill him and he welcomed death.”

“No,” Kíli breathed, his eyes going wide in panic. He couldn’t lose Fíli. His brother couldn’t die. Gandalf was wrong. There was no way that Fíli would welcome death. It was impossible.

“Yes,” Gandalf said gently but firmly, the twinkle gone from his blue eyes. “What your brother did to keep you safe destroyed him. And Thorin knew what it was doing to him but still urged him on, for _you._ You can doubt many things in this world, Kíli, my lad, but you can never doubt the love that Thorin Oakenshield has for you.”

“But Fíli,” Kíli demanded, his anger evaporating in his concern for his brother, “He’ll be alright, won’t he?”

“That I cannot tell you,” Gandalf replied with a shake of his head. “All I know for certain is that he has suffered a grave wound. I cannot say if he will ever recover.” At Gandalf’s words, Kíli felt his heart break again. It hadn’t been Thorin that destroyed Fíli; it had been Kíli.

“You’re wrong,” Kíli said looking at the wizard with tears in his eyes once more as he realized just how deeply he had hurt his brother. Gandalf raised an eyebrow but said nothing. “It wasn’t Thorin that destroyed Fíli. It was me. I told him . . . I said that . . . I said that no brother of mine could do what he had done. I disowned him, after he . . . I didn’t ask them to do that for me,” Kíli argued. “I didn’t want either of them to get hurt for my sake.”

“No,” Gandalf agreed with a sad smile. “You didn’t ask it. And that’s what makes it all the more special that they did it.” Kíli grimaced at his words and Gandalf explained. “Family is a precious thing, my dear Kíli. I know that you are angry with Fíli and Thorin at the moment, but put yourself in their places—either one, I don’t care which. What would you have done, if you could have spared them pain?”

“I would have done what I had to,” Kíli answered harshly. “Even if it meant enduring pain. I would gladly have traded places with Uncle just so that I didn’t have to watch him go through it. It hurt, Gandalf. To have to sit there and _watch_ and not be able to do _anything_. I hated it.”

“They would have felt the same way if you had switched places with Thorin. Would you have wished that pain on them?” Gandalf asked, but didn’t wait for Kíli to answer him. He had no need to, the horror in the young dwarf’s eyes was answer enough. He wouldn’t have and hadn’t even thought of it that way.

“What if it meant giving pain to another?” Gandalf continued. “What would you have done if the Great Goblin had threatened Fíli’s life?”

“Anything,” Kíli breathed. “I would have done whatever he asked of me. But that’s not why I was upset, Gandalf. They didn’t tell me. They didn’t think that I needed to know.”

“Didn’t they?” Gandalf asked. Kíli sorted through his memories of the ordeal and his heart sank as he realized that, in a way, his uncle had tried to tell him. But how had Gandalf known?

“You were there!” Kíli snapped rounding on the wizard, murder burning in his brown eyes at the thought that the wizard had stood by while his uncle was tortured and his brother was broken. “You were there! That’s how you know all of this!”

“Yes,” Gandalf snapped, sarcasm dripping from the words and his eyebrows and beard bristling threateningly. “I was there. I was standing in the shadows watching the show and biding my time to swoop in and rescue you lot in the most dramatic fashion I could manage.”

“I’m sorry,” Kíli replied quietly, suitably cowed by the wizard’s sarcasm. “It sounds truly foolish when you say it that way. I apologize.”  Rather than smite him where he sat, Gandalf laughed.

“My dear dwarf,” the wizard said, just stopping himself from clapping Kíli on the back in his random show of joviality, “I must say that _that_ was the most sincere apology I have ever received from a dwarf, let alone one of the line of Durin.”

Rather than be cheered by his words, Kíli felt them settle into his stomach like a stone. It only served as a reminder to him just how differently he behaved as opposed to the behavior that was expected of him. 


	10. Honest Discussions and Harsh Truths

“Come,” Gandalf said after some time had passed, “I am willing to bet that there will be food at camp by now. I would also venture that you could use a good meal after everything you have been through.” He stood and offered a hand to the injured heir of Durin to help him to his feet, halfway curious if Kíli would take the offer or struggle to his feet alone in an attempt to show his strength.

“Why?” the young dwarf asked suddenly, his voice little more than a broken whisper and his brown eyes filled with despair as he looked up at the wizard.

“Why should you be hungry?” Gandalf asked in confusion. “My dear dwarf, even _dwarves_ have to eat and it has been more than a day since your last meal.”

“No,” Kíli said, shaking his head sadly. “Why are you being kind to me? I’m useless. Even if Uncle _does_ love me, he shouldn’t. I can’t do _anything_ that I’m supposed to. I can’t withstand pain, I couldn’t even see that they were they were doing for me. Mahal! I can’t even show the pride due to a dwarf, let alone an heir of Durin.” He offered Gandalf a sad smile of apology for saying that he shouldn’t have apologized to the wizard—not realizing the irony of apologizing for saying that he shouldn’t have apologized (which caused Gandalf to have to hide a smile in his beard).

“I don’t deserve your kindness,” Kíli sighed looking down at his hands. “The others are right in how they’ve started treating me. The only think I’m good at is making mistakes. They don’t need me.”

“Kíli,” Gandalf said, his voice gentle as he lifted the young dwarf’s chin to look into his eyes. “I do not know what the others have said or done to you, but they are not correct to have behaved in such a way. And even if they were, it is no reason for you to allow them to be unkind to you and believe that it is what you are due. We are all due many things, and many in this world never receive what they are due. Sadly this is often the good things they are due. Others receive much that they do not deserve and, regrettably, most of this excess is cruel.

“Your uncle, for example: does he deserve all the loss he has experienced? All the pain? No, but he has received it anyway. We should not seek to cause others any more pain than we must because chances are that they have already received more pain that they are due in this world. Even if all that you just said of yourself was true, which I do not believe it is, you would _still_ be deserving of my kindness.

“Now, come,” Gandalf said, standing once more and reoffering his hand. “The others will wonder where you have gotten to.” Kíli didn’t agree with Gandalf, especially about the others worrying about him, but this time he allowed the wizard to pull him to his feet and lead him back to camp.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Kíli was wrong. The first thing that the others noticed when they returned to camp was that while Thorin and Fíli were accounted for, he was missing. It worried them and they briefly debated delaying the meal even farther to send out a search party to locate him—unsure if it would upset Thorin more that they had given the lad space or slowed the expedition even more ensuring that he was safe—until they noticed that the wizard was missing as well. They could only hope that Kíli was with him and would return shortly. There were too many other things that needed to be taken care of before they could leave to search the woods blindly for Kíli when he most likely had no desire to be found. They eventually decided that if he had not returned by the time the meal was cooked, they would begin the search, whether he wanted to be found or not.

A manhunt turned out to be unnecessary. Just as Bombur began plating up food, Kíli and Gandalf returned from the woods, much to the relief of the others. None of them had wanted to be the one to explain to Thorin that they had lost his nephew. More than one offered him a small smile in welcome which Kíli didn’t return as he looked at them nervously—reminding them more of a skittish animal than the lighthearted prince that had entered the mountains the day before—before his eyes landed on his brother and Uncle and his face filled with a look of longing so intense that it pained them to see it. So they looked away from the pain in his young face and focused instead on their food.

Kíli didn’t realize _why_ they looked away from him but he didn’t worry about it too much. His only thoughts were for his family. Thorin and Fíli were both asleep when Kíli and Gandalf returned to camp, their contrasting hair twined together—gold and black—and Fíli was carefully curled as close to his uncle as he could get, seeking comfort. Kíli walked around the edge of camp until he was standing beside them, not wanting to walk right through the middle and endure all the condemning gazes that he knew would be directed at him. After all, they couldn’t even stand to look at him. He didn’t figure that they wanted his company.

He knew that his uncle and brother probably wanted nothing to do with him either, but he _needed_ to reassure himself that they were actually alive. He knelt next to Thorin on the side that wasn’t occupied by Fíli and just looked at him. The small sounds of pain that came from his uncle as he breathed brought tears to the young heir of Durin. His uncle had been injured for his sake and he didn’t even deserve it: all he had done was brought shame to them all. With gentle, tentative fingers, Kíli reached out to trace the bruises on Thorin’s wrist where he had been bound.

“I’m sorry,” Kíli breathed. “I’m so sorry, Uncle. You were right. I never should have come. I should have stayed at home.”

“No,” came the ragged reply. “I’m sorry Kíli. I was wrong. I never should have said that to you.” Kíli looked up in surprise. Thorin’s blue eyes were open and he was looking at his nephew with a sad, tired smile on his face. He had only been dosing—the pain he was in was enough to prevent true rest yet not enough to drive him to unconsciousness—and Kíli’s gentle touch and his words had roused him.

“You weren’t,” Kíli sobbed shaking his head sadly looking away from the love and regret in his uncle’s eyes. Thorin had done nothing wrong. He had nothing to apologize for. He had only spoken the truth. “I wasn’t ready for this, Uncle. I should have stayed in Ered Luin. If I had’ve . . .”

“You _are_ ready, Kíli,” Thorin replied lifting his hand slowly and painfully to stroke along his nephew’s cheek. His shoulder protested the movement, but the pain of the motion was nothing compared to the ache in his heart at the sight of his usually happy nephew so disconsolate. He had already endured worse pain at the hands of others for Kíli’s sake that day and now that his nephew needed him again Thorin had no intention to deny him comfort.

“But I—“

“No,” Thorin cut him off gently. “You are . . . I can’t say that you didn’t make a mistake, Kíli. What you said to Fíli . . . I don’t know that I can explain to you how much that hurt your brother.”

“You don’t have to,” Kíli breathed, his voice still filled with tears as he pressed his cheek into his uncle’s palm, his own hand coming up to sandwich Thorin’s between his cheek and his palm. He never thought that his Uncle would show him kindness again and he had no intention of passing up this opportunity.

 “I’ve seen how much I hurt him. He hates me, Uncle,” Kíli sobbed, clutching at Thorin’s hand desperately. He fervently hoped that Thorin was going to tell him that he was wrong. He _needed_ to hear that he was wrong. That wasn’t what happened.

“Yes,” Thorin agreed, his words driving a fresh poker into Kíli’s already wounded heart. “At the moment, I would agree with that.” He knew that his words would hurt Kíli, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie to him. Not about this. Even so, Thorin flinched at the pain in Kíli’s brown eyes—the same eyes that Dís had and Frerin had shared—before his nephew looked away.

“But, Kíli,” Thorin promised with a sad smile and a gentle squeeze to the cheek under his hand, “It won’t last. He’s hurt, but your brother loves you. I know it. You just have to remind him of why that it.” Kíli said nothing so Thorin decided that he needed to continue.

“He has every right to hate both of us right now,” Thorin said in such a quiet voice that Kíli almost missed it. “I pushed him too far, Kíli. I pushed both of you too far. I—“

“Did what you needed to to keep us alive,” Kíli said quietly, looking at Thorin with tear-filled brown eyes that were also brimming with love and understanding. “I know that now. I understand why you did it. I’m sorry that I yelled at you. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I made that more difficult for you. For both of you.”

“No, Kíli,” Thorin whispered his tone begging Kíli to understand. “You did fine. You did better than many would have done in that situation, especially as untested youths. And . . .” Thorin paused with a small mirthless laugh, “you’re not the only one to yell at me for how I handled the situation we were just in. It makes me think that I may have erred. I tried to treat you both like children to be protected and seasoned warriors at the same time. I was wrong and I . . . I failed you both.” Kíli smiled wryly at Thorin’s speech. This was most unlike his uncle. Though it did make him feel a bit better, perhaps he could help his uncle feel better as well.

“You’re delirious with pain, aren’t you Uncle?” the young heir or Durin asked suddenly, a parody of his usual mischievous smile on his face and a faint twinkle breaking through the sadness in his eyes.

“What makes you ask that?” Thorin replied, his confusion showing in his face even as his eyes sparkled with amusement that Kíli was teasing him. Even if it lacked the lad’s usual fire, it was a small sign that he, at least, would recover from their ordeal if given time. If only Fíli would show such a sign.

“That little speech contained more words that I have heard you speak since before we left for Erebor _and_ I don’t believe that I have ever heard you take fault for something like that,” Kíli said with a laugh.

“I could use a good laugh, lad,” Bofur said suddenly from beside them, two steaming bowls of food in his hands and Bilbo close behind him with the third. “Care to share the joke?” Thorin and Kíli exchanged a look.

“No,” Kíli said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, as he gently untangled Fíli’s hand from Thorin’s hair before he helped Thorin to sit up so he could eat, focusing more on the conversation than the pained gasps coming from his uncle. “But I’ll bet that we’d both like to hear one if you happen to have one ready.”

“I don’t,” Bofur replied. “But Bilbo did tell me one the other day about a . . . gopher? And what he thought was a bumblebee.”

“That wasn’t a joke,” Bilbo said shifting nervously at the prospect of telling the King and his nephew a story about his gardener being chased by a sweat-bee that he had believed to be an angry bumblebee and nearly drowning in the creek until he realized that it was less than a foot deep and stood. “It was a tale about my _gaffer_. And not appropriate at this time.” 

“If you would tell it,” Thorin offered knowing that it was his presence that was denying Kíli the possibility of a laugh and attempting to put Bilbo more at ease, “I would enjoy hearing about your . . . gaffer, was it?” With a deep sigh, Bilbo settled himself down beside Kíli, handing the bowl he carried to the King and beginning his tale. Soon, Bilbo forgot _who_ he was telling the tale too, feeding off the laughter of Bofur and Kíli and the small smile on Thorin’s face as they waited for the food to be cool enough to eat.

“Oh, Bilbo, please,” Kíli begged around his fits of laughter mingled with small sobs as the movement made his bruises ache, “no more! Please, no more! It hurts to laugh.”

“The tale is not done yet, Nephew,” Thorin said with a small smile. Kíli’s laughter warmed his heart. If Kíli would be fine everything he had endured would have been worth it. “Would you have him stop before it is over? It has been a fine tale so far and I would see how it ends.”

“Then it’s a shame I missed the entire thing,” Fíli said suddenly sitting up, his sleep-blank expression turning hard as he watched Kíli wipe tears of mirth from his eyes as their Uncle smiled at him fondly. He felt rage bubble within him that Kíli could laugh like that when he was still aching from the broken pieces within him grinding together. How could Kíli be so happy when Fíli still felt like dying? Did his brother really care that little for him that he could laugh so freely while Fíli was in pain? And how could Thorin let him get away with it? His uncle had betrayed him again.

“Oh, Fíli!” Kíli laughed, looking at his brother, “You have to hear it! It was hilarious! You . . .” he trailed off as he saw the hatred and rage in his brother’s blue eyes and his laughter died in his throat. He looked away, unable to hold Fíli’s gaze any longer and began to pick sullenly at his food. He should have known better than to hope that Fíli would be fine when he woke up.

Bofur and Bilbo shifted uncomfortably at the sudden chill that had come over the group. It was clear that they wanted to be anywhere other than in the middle of a glaring contests between Thorin’s heirs. Neither of them knew what to do, however as Thorin had requested that Bilbo finish the tail, he _should_ do it but it was more than inappropriate in the current atmosphere.

“It’s not that funny,” Bilbo said quietly, his tone subdued where it had been so bright only moments before. He felt the full force of Fíli’s ire even though it wasn’t directed at him. “Rather silly really.” He found that he couldn’t quite meet the eyes of any of the heirs of Durin at the moment.

“No,” Thorin disagreed. “It was quite entertaining. You will have to finish it for us at another time. But you must be hungry. I notice that neither you nor Bofur has a bowl and there are still two by the fire. I thank you for bringing us food and apologize for keeping you from your own.” Bilbo looked up at the king, his hazel eyes wide in surprise. Thorin had just given him a way to extract himself from the situation and he more than intended to take it.

“I am,” Bilbo agreed. “Feels like days since I last ate. I will be more than happy to finish it for you later. All you need to do is ask.” Thorin nodded and watched with a jealous sigh as both Bilbo and Bofur beat a hasty retreat from the tension surrounding the royal family. The king looked between his nephews, Kíli who wouldn’t look at his brother and Fíli who was glaring at his brother in a way that made Thorin immensely glad that looks could not kill. Righteous though Fíli’s anger was, Thorin feared it and what might come of it. He made a note that he would have to ask Dwalin to keep an eye on the brothers for him until he was able to do it himself. That thought alone disturbed him more that the tortures he had undergone.

Never would he have believed it. And if anyone had ever told him that he would fear one of his nephews would harm the other he would have said that they had been too far into the cups . . . perhaps even into the keg itself. The two of them had loved each other unconditionally since Kíli had been born and had been so evenly matched once they were both fully grown that even if they did occasionally brawl he knew that no grievous harm would come from it. But now, Fíli was so changed, hurt and broken and Kíli so filled with guilt that he was unsure what they would do. One wrong word from Kíli might be all it took for Fíli to snap (as the bruises that Thorin was just noticing on Kíli’s upper arms attested to) and he wasn’t sure that Kíli had it within him at the moment to resist the punishment that his brother would dish out in such a rage. He feared for them both if it came to that.


	11. "Baseless Accusations" Rage and a Promise

After the dishes were washed it could be delayed no longer: the company  _had_  to move. It wasn't something than any of them were looking forward to but the prospect of sitting on the doorstep of Goblin Town after nightfall and risking being close enough for the goblins to easily mount an attack was an idea that they liked even less than the idea of trying to move their wounded King. But even if it couldn't be delayed, there were still complications to sort out before they could move. One of these complications was how to redistribute the gear. While they were glad that they had managed to escape with all of their packs—even if they  _had_  lost the ponies and most of the food—they provided a difficulty to an already difficult situation.

Dwarves, while durable and strong, were not completely tireless. None of them save for Thorin had had any kind of sleep and they were begging to feel it. Add to their weariness the fact that most of their own packs had been nearly filled to the point that they were too much, and suddenly the fact that all of the gear had been saved was a burden not a boon. Neither Thorin nor Kíli were in any condition to carry packs and the gear they had carried now had to be divided between the others.

Though Thorin had remained silent on the matter, it was clear that he was displeased that he had to be coddled in such a way. However, he knew that they were right. There was no way that he could carry a pack. He wasn't entirely sure that he could move himself, let alone bear the weight of a pack on his wounded shoulders and even if he could . . . if he was burdened by a pack he would only slow them more and put them at even more risk. It was this knowledge that led to his silence. He felt no need to draw further attention to his own weaknesses.

Kíli, however, had no such qualms. He protested vehemently that he was perfectly capable of carrying his pack and refused to hear any arguments against his ability to do so. He argued that he had carried it from Goblin Town and that he would carry it from there. When it was clear that he would not see reason, Dwalin had resorted to other—more physical—means to convince the boy of his inability. All it took was a barely-there touch to his back from the warrior to drive the young heir to his knees from pain. With a look that was both smug and sad, Dwalin shook his head at Kíli. That was the end of  _that_  argument but it wasn't the end of the arguments before they set out.

The next major dispute involved Thorin. With much effort—and many grimaces and foul words in both Khuzdul and the common tongue—Thorin had managed to get back into the first layer of his clothing with Balin's help. But when Balin tried to help him into the next layer . . . that was when they hit the next point of contention: his armored shirt.

The company felt that with his injuries hampering his ability to fight it would be nearly suicidal for him to walk around in naught but an undershirt. They intended to protect him with their lives, but that would be an easier task if he wasn't such an easy target. Thorin was having none of it.

He had started out, much like Kíli had, protesting the need for such protection stating that he was capable of defending himself if the need arose even with his wounds. None of them had the heart to point out that the King couldn't even get to his feet without help and if he couldn't manage that then there was no way that he could wield a sword in battle. Instead, they focused on the fact that it was as much for their benefit as his as they could better defend themselves if they weren't  _quite_  as worried for him.

After this had gone on for longer than Thorin believed that it should, Thorin finally snapped. "I cannot bear it!" he said looking desperately at Balin begging his friend to understand. "Do you hear me? I  _cannot_ bear it! I understand that by going without it I put not only myself but all of you in danger but I can't wear it. Even the weight of this cloth is almost too much. I can't even . . . no."

"So what should we do?" Balin asked sarcastically. He understood where Thorin was coming from but this was foolishness on his part. He understood that his friend was trying to minimize his own pain, but this would perhaps keep him alive if they were attacked.

"Should we carry perfectly good armor?" Balin finished the question. Thorin sighed and for a brief moment Balin believed that he had won the argument. But then the king looked at him once more.

"Fíli can wear it," Thorin said obstinately. As far as he was concerned it was an elegant solution. "I can't wear it. It's foolish to carry it. By your reasoning that I should since I'm injured, Kíli would actually be the next logical suggestion, but as he can't bear to be touched I doubt he could stand the weight of  _that_  on his wounds. Of the royal family that leaves Fíli. And he actually  _is_  the next logical choice—even above Kíli—at any rate as my heir. He should wear it." The company saw it as a brilliant solution. Even if they would prefer Thorin to be protected, Fíli  _was_  the next in line if anything happened to his uncle and if Thorin couldn't wear it, Fíli should.

Thorin's nephews, on the other hand . . . neither of them liked that solution. Kíli, who was still feeling vulnerable after what he had said to his brother and done to his uncle, saw the bit about Fíli being the logical choice above him as a slight against his worth to his uncle and the fact that none of the others had protested a sign of their views on his worth as well. Fíli saw the bit out Kíli being his uncle's first suggestion as Thorin choosing Kíli's well-being over his yet again.

"No," Fíli said bitterly as Balin tried to hand the shirt to him. He looked past Balin at his uncle, his blue eyes cold as ice, "You were right. Kíli  _should_  wear it. Can't let the youngest incur any risk after all. He has to be protected no matter the cost. Right, Uncle?" Thorin flinched at the ice in Fíli's tone as well as the accusation there. What he had feared was true: Fíli didn't just hate Kíli. He hated them all. Even himself.

"Fíli," the youngest began quietly, pain in his brown eyes at both the hurt he could see in his brother and that he had become a point of contention between his uncle and brother. "No, you should—"

"I wasn't talking to you," Fíli snapped, rounding on Kíli with hatred in his eyes. "No one wants your opinion so you just stay out of this!" Kíli's face crumpled at the words as if his brother had slapped him. Fíli had  _never_  spoken to him like that! It nearly broke his heart to see his brother look at him like he was and to hear such angry words hurled at him. Fíli watched as tears filled his brother's eyes but couldn't bring himself to care. He was even vaguely pleased that Kíli was experiencing even a  _hint_  of the pain that he had put Fíli through in the caves.

"Fíli," Thorin began trying desperately to draw his eldest's attention from his youngest. Once he did it was everything he could do to keep from flinching at the pain and anger he saw in Fíli's blue eyes. It broke his heart that his heir had been so broken.

"What, Uncle?" Fíli snarled. "Will you tell me that I'm wrong? That everything that  _you_  endured, everything that  _I_  endured . . . will you tell me that it wasn't for  _him?_ " he glared at his brother once more, fury twisting his young features until they were almost unrecognizable. "You can barely stand and I . . . and  _then_  he wasn't even  _ **grateful**_! He  _ **saw**_! He saw what we did for  **HIM**  and he spat on it!"

"Fíli," Thorin tried again, his tone edging towards desperation as he tried to reach his nephew underneath the rage that seemed to have possessed him. It didn't work.

"TELL ME I'M WRONG, UNCLE!" the blonde dwarf demanded, his eyes wild. "Tell me that he  _didn't_  behave like a selfish  _dwarfling!_  You shouldn't have let Mother bully you into bringing him! He  _should_  have stayed at home!"

"Fíli, that's enough!" Thorin snapped. He understood that the lad was upset, but this was neither the time nor the place to air his grievances. The company did not need to hear this argument. Kíli did not need to hear it. Thorin knew that Fíli didn't truly mean the things that he said about his brother—or he hoped so at least—but even if he did this was an argument between Thorin and Fíli and he could see how every word that left his eldest's mouth affected his youngest. With every word that Fíli yelled, Kíli curled further into himself as if trying to ward off physical blows. Yes, Thorin could understand Fíli's need to vent, but he could not allow this tirade to continue. It was only winding Fíli up more and hurting Kíli in the process. No good would come of it.

"We are  _not_  having this conversation here," Thorin said in a tone that left no room for argument. "You and I will discuss this  _later_ , in  _private_ , if you still wish it once you have calmed down a bit. But even there I will  _not_ allow you to say that your brother should not have come. He—"

Fíli cut his uncle off with a mirthless laugh, a sound filled with incredulity and pain. "I should have known," he said quietly, tears forming in his eyes, "especially after what just happened.  _Of course_  you would take his side. You've  _always_  preferred him over me. Even last night."

"In case you've forgotten," Thorin replied coldly, "it was  _you_  that informed  _me_  that you would do whatever it took to keep him safe. Even if it meant killing me." He  _had_  intended to have this discussion in private, but such an accusation could not go unanswered. He had  _never_  shown preference to one boy over the other and he would not allow Fíli to claim that he had.

"I  _never_  said that!" Fíli yelled. "I  _never_  said that I would kill you. That was  _you_! You were the one that told me that if they asked me to pick that I should choose Kíli. And I did, Uncle. I chose his life over your health and my sanity. I chose Kíli, just as  _you_  ordered me to." Thorin flinched at the quiet pain there at the end of his speech. He knew that doing what he had needed to had hurt Fíli, but he didn't realize  _that_ was what had broken him. He had thought that it was Kíli's words that had destroyed his blonde nephew.

"You may not have said it," Thorin whispered, attempting to remind Fíli just how much he had loved his brother just a day before and give him something to cling to as the guilt of his actions ate at him, "but you would have done it even had I not have said it." At Thorin's words, Fíli's face crumpled and the fury fell away before he looked away from the understanding in his uncle's blue eyes. It was true. He would have. He would have taken his uncle's life to save his brother and Kíli hadn't cared. He felt anger begin to resurface with that last thought.

"Fíli," Thorin tried again, reaching for his nephew. He had seen the anger leave his nephew and thought that he had a chance to fix the situation between his nephews. "Fíli, you can't blame Kíli for what happened. You—"

"So what, Uncle?" Fíli demanded, his temper rising once more at the  _idea_  that his Uncle might think that he was to blame for Thorin's injuries. This time, rather than direct itself at Thorin for his favoritism or his stubbornness in refusing to answer the Goblin King's question, it turned on Kíli. The entire situation could be blamed on him. If he would have just kept his fool mouth shut, the Goblin King would never have realized that he and Thorin were related and none of this would have happened. Everything that Fíli had been forced to do could be traced back to Kíli and now Thorin was blaming  _him_  for it!

"SO WHAT!?" he screamed, a feral sound filled with pain and frustration and anguish. "It's MY fault? 'My actions were my own' just like Kíli's words? No, Uncle, this is all HIS fault! And deep down, you know it." With one final cold glare at Kíli—who was looking at his brother as though Fíli had just run him through with a sword—the eldest heir of Thorin stalked off down the path leaving a flabbergasted company in his wake.

Thorin stood there for a moment in shock at what had just happened before he turned to the group. "What are you waiting for?" he asked, his voice quiet and filled with emotional pain. "Fíli has led the way. Move out." With a few pitying glances at Thorin and a couple of gentle pats to Kíli's bowed head, they left, following the rapidly moving blonde head of Fíli.

"Dwalin, a word?" Thorin called, halting the large dwarf and bring him back to his side. "I'm not sure how to ask this," Thorin began slowly, his eyes never leaving the distraught form of Kíli who was now weeping into Bilbo's shoulder. Then with a sigh they flicked in the direction that Fíli had gone before they came back to rest on Dwalin.

"I never thought I'd need to ask this, but—"

"I'll keep an eye on him," Dwalin promised in a whisper. "Fíli'll get over this eventually and until he does I'll make sure that he doesn't hurt  _anyone_. Poor lad doesn't need anything else to beat himself up over."

Thorin nodded his thanks and waited until Dwalin broke into a jog to catch up with the irate blonde before he turned and walked slowly to where Kíli, Bilbo and Bofur were.

"Kíli," Thorin said quietly, trying to keep the pain that moving caused his wounds out of his voice to keep from upsetting his nephew further. When the lad didn't reply, he tried again. "Kíli, we need to get moving. I don't' know about you, but I will not be going anywhere quickly today. If we want to cover any ground before nightfall we need to begin." Thorin flinched as Kíli suddenly released Bilbo and threw himself into his uncle's arms, his fingers unintentionally digging into the wounds on Thorin's back as he clung to his uncle and wept. Thorin shifted slightly to try to move Kíli's head from one of his more painful wounds before tangling his hand in his nephew's chestnut hair and leaning his cheek against the top of Kíli's head.

"Uncle," Kíli sobbed. "He . . . He. . . " Even though Thorin wasn't quite sure what his nephew wanted to say, he gave the only answer that he could.

"I know, Kíli. I know."


	12. Rage, Foolishness and Bloodshed

Before Kíli had calmed completely, Thorin had been forced to make him move, though it broke his heart anew to do so. His brother, while not running, was setting a very brusque pace and Thorin was already beginning to wonder if they would ever catch up to them. The King had been right about the traveling pace that he was able to accomplish, he had seen _dwarflings_ crawl faster than he could walk, but it couldn’t be helped. The ground was uneven with shallow—and not-so-shallow—drop-offs hidden within the layers of forest debris. He had taken to feeling each step carefully with his foot before he took it. The extra motion hurt, but not as much as the alternative.

It was a lesson he had learned the hard way. He had been walking when suddenly the layer of leaves beneath his feet gave way and he fell. It was only a short distance—the leaves coming up to his calves—but the shock of even so little a drop had caused a startled cry of pain to rise up his throat and for Kíli, who was sticking abnormally close to his uncle in the absence of his brother—and Bilbo to both place a hand on his arm and look up at him with sad eyes. While he was warmed by the fact that they cared, he hated that he deserved their pity.

That little incident had caused Bofur to begin walking a couple of steps in front of the King, not to be rude but to allow Thorin to see what was coming up ahead by watching the toymaker traverse it first. The sight of it made his heart swell with fondness. When he had been planning this mission, he had taken any volunteer that he could but he had questioned what a minner or a toymaker could do on such a quest—or a _hobbit_ for that matter. He hadn’t even had a proper weapon! Now . . . now he didn’t question why any of them were there. They had all proved him wrong, proved their worth. He had grown to care for them and, strangely enough, they had grown to care for him. He could see it in their concerned gazes, the way they hovered but tried to make it look as though they weren’t. He now understood another thing as well.

From the beginning of the quest, Fíli and Kíli had taken to traveling with Bofur, Bilbo and whoever else might be near them at the time. When his nephews chose those two as traveling companions Thorin couldn’t understand it. The brothers were his heirs, royal dwarves. They should have wanted to be at the front of the line with him and Balin and Dwalin not at the end with a toymaker and a hobbit. Now he understood. What Bilbo and Bofur lacked in lineage they more than made up for in heart. They were refreshing to be around even in this situation and he had to wonder what they would be like uninhibited by sadness and himself.

He wondered if Fíli was finding his usual group to be a refreshing. Despite his fears, Fíli had eventually slowed enough to allow his uncle and brother to catch up—though it had been clear that it _had not_ been his idea from the set of his jaw—and was now walking at the front of the column between Balin and Dwalin. If Thorin had it in him to be amused at the moment, this would have done it. He and Fíli had switched places for the moment. He wondered if the lad was finding the switch agreeable or if he was missing his brother yet. Kíli seemed to be thinking the same thing.

“You know,” he was saying to Bilbo, “I _should_ walk up there by him. Maybe try to talk to him. Apologize _again_ : explain that I _did_ appreciate what he did for me but that I was too upset with myself at the time to realize it. That _might_ work. You know, I will! I’ll go now!”

“Um, Kíli,” Bilbo said nervously, placing a gentle restraining hand on the young dwarf’s arm, “I’m not going to say that you _can’t_ , but I . . . I’m not sure that is a good idea. He’s . . . he’s mighty angry. Perhaps . . . perhaps you should . . . you should give him time.” Bilbo wasn’t sure how to tell the dwarf that Fíli had scared him back at the camp. He had been so raw, so angry. The hobbit had spent quite a bit of time with the brothers and he had never known that Fíli was capable of such anger. He feared it. Fíli wasn’t himself at the moment and he feared what would happen if Kíli pressed him.

“Nonsense!” Kíli called moving out from under Bilbo’s hand. “Space isn’t what he needs. He needs me to remind him why he loves me. Right, Uncle?” Thorin flinched at the hope in Kíli’s brown eyes. He hated that once again he was going to have to tell his nephew the opposite of what he wanted, _needed_ , to hear.

“Kíli,” Thorin began and saw his nephew’s face begin to crumple at his name. The king abruptly changed his mind. He couldn’t cause Kíli any more pain. Not right then. He knew that it was selfish keeping the truth from him, but . . . he couldn’t stand to have them _both_ angry with him.

“That may be what he needs,” Thorin agreed. “But at the moment, _I_ need you to stay by me, please. You can’t leave Bilbo and Bofur to deal with your cantankerous, injured uncle alone, can you?” It had the effect that he wanted: Kíli smiled, a dazzling thing, and came back to stand by his side with a laugh rather than go and confront his brother. Once he was back beside his uncle, he gently threaded his uninjured arm through Thorin’s and gently touched his head to his uncle’s affectionately.

“If you needed me to stay, you could have just asked,” Kíli whispered. Thorin smiled fondly at the top of Kíli’s dark head. Once his wounds healed, Kíli—at least—would be fine. He seemed mostly normal, at any rate, still sad, and a bit uneasy around anyone other than their current little group, but _mostly_ normal.

“I think I just did,” the King replied squeezing his nephew’s wrist gently before disentangling them and nodding that Kíli needed to keep walking. He did, the set of his shoulders clearly showing that the act was painful for him, but Thorin again felt pride swell within him as he noted that Kíli’s face, while a bit pinched around the eyes, showed no sign of the pain he was in. _Stubborn little thing_ , he thought fondly. Both of his nephews were actually stubborn little things.

At that thought he looked up to see the back of Fíli’s head, just to reassure himself that his other nephew was still there, only to see that Fíli was looking at him: _glaring_ at him. Then his gaze shifted to his brother and his face filled with rage once more before he turned back to the front. He felt a groan rise up his throat. In making Kíli feel better he had only made things worse between them. Could he do _nothing_ right by his nephews?

“He’ll calm down, Thorin,” Bofur said gently from in front of him, looking over his shoulder at the king with gentle brown eyes. “I saw the look he just gave you and the little one. He’s pissed. Honestly, I probably would be too after what _he’s_ been through—not that I’m saying that there was another way that could have gone. I would _never_ dare to question your decisions in how you conduct the quest or handle your family. I—“ The eyes were no longer gentle, they were panicked and he had taken to walking backwards with his hands raised in supplication as he realized that he might have just insulted his injured—and most likely tired and temperamental—King.

“It is fine, Bofur,” Thorin said with a sad smile. “I took no offence. And you are right. Fíli has every right to be angry with both me and his brother. I only hope that you are also right that he will eventually forgive us. I can’t bear to lose him. Either of them.” Bofur felt his eyes widen in shock.

Fíli and Kíli had always insisted that their uncle wasn’t nearly as cold as he pretended to be, that behind closed doors he was warm and affectionate. Bofur had never believed them. But the events of the last day seemed to have smashed the boundaries between Thorin-the-Uncle and Thorin-the-King and he had shown a softness to everyone that he had never before shown. Bofur knew that it was only a matter of time before the boundary came back up, be he couldn’t help but enjoy this version of his King while it lasted. If he thought that he could get away with telling Thorin how to run his life, he would suggest that he keep this version of his personality. It would do no harm for the people to see that he was just a dwarf as well.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Fíli, on the other hand, was not the least bit happy with his uncle’s latest show of affection. He felt the molten anger that had begun to cool within him rise up and threaten to drown him once more. How could they _do_ that!? Stand back there together and embrace and _laugh_ like nothing had happened? How did his uncle have a smile left in him at all after what had happened? That was Kíli’s fault too. He had seen that smile on his uncle’s face enough times to know that that was _Kili’s_ smile, their mother’s smile . . . the smile that Thorin had for him wasn’t quite the same. There was pride there, yes, and love but there was also an undercurrent of reserve that wasn’t there with the others. Fíli didn’t understand it but to see _that_ smile directed at his brother when the last expression Thorin had had for _him_ had been one of shock and hurt . . . it didn’t matter that that expression had been _his_ fault, it made him ache and the ache translated to rage. Rage that directed itself at his brother for doing things that forced him to say things like that to his uncle and cause Thorin to look at him _that_ way. Everything would have been fine if Kíli hadn’t’ve come. Just as it was fine before he was born.

He let out a low growl and tried to speed up and distance himself from his brother and his uncle somehow feeling that physical distance could ease the ache of the emotional distance that had grown between them, but a gentle hand on his arm stopped him.

“We need to take it easy, lad,” Balin said looking at him kindly. Fíli felt his heart lift. Balin understood. He wasn’t angry. There was understanding rather than hurt in his eyes! Balin hadn’t betrayed him, not like Kíli, not like his uncle. Balin was still with him. And then he processed Balin’s words and his hope faded and was replaced once more with rage. The older dwarf, while he might have understood, was talking about _them_ and trying to get Fíli to feel bad for them.

“I know you’re mad at them but . . . do you really want to leave them alone to deal with the goblins?” Balin watched as the blonde heir’s blue eyes softened and thought that he might have gotten through to him and broken the cloud of rage that had settled over him but nearly as soon as it came, the softness disappeared and when Fíli opened his mouth his gaze was hard once more. Rather than listen to another tirade about his uncle and brother, Balin cut him off gently. “Don’t answer that, laddie. I don’t want you to have more words to regret later.”

“I won’t regret anything that I’ve said,” Fíli snarled ripping his arm from Balin’s grasp. “It was all true. Can _you_ tell me that I was wrong? That it _wasn’t_ Kíli’s fault. That Uncle doesn’t love Kíli more than he love me.” Balin sighed. He knew that he had to answer the question or risk angering the young heir even more. He also knew that he couldn’t lie, in Fíli’s current mood the lad would smell a lie leagues away. That only left the truth, and he wasn’t sure how Fíli would react to _that_.

“I can’t,” Balin said honestly. “There are aspects that you have wrong and parts that I don’t think you fully understand but . . . you weren’t wrong. Not entirely.”

Dwalin shot his brother a sharp look. The last thing they needed was for Balin to make Fíli feel like he was justified in his rage. The lad was stubborn and if he was given even a hint of validation this would never end. He wondered what his brother was doing. You can’t reason with people who are in a rage. You just have to let it blow over and _then_ reason with them. Or provoke them to a fight and then reason with them. He only hoped that Balin was about to make this worse. This needed to blow over sooner rather than later and Dwalin had promised not to let this come to blows. Fíli just needed to calm down and a rehash of his argument with Thorin was not going to help.

“What don’t I understand?” Fíli demanded sharply. Balin sighed as he belatedly realized that he might have just made things worse and only hoped that he could say the right thing to talk down the enraged heir. If he was the one that drove Fíli to doing something rash he knew that Thorin would have his beard. He had made a mistake and now he had to fix it.

“Thorin doesn’t love Kíli _more_ than he does you,” Balin offered his voice begging the lad to understand. Balin knew why he thought that, he had seen his old friend’s reservation with his blond nephew and he knew the cause of it. It was time that Fíli did too and perhaps time to have a chat with Thorin about it. Until that day, Balin hadn’t realized that Fíli could tell a difference in the treatments they received from Thorin. He had never shown any sign of knowing.

“He doesn’t,” Balin repeated when he saw disbelief override the rage in Fíli’s face. “It’s just . . . what do you know about your Uncle Frenin?”

“That has _nothing_ to do with this,” Fíli snapped. He knew that his uncle had died young and that Thorin had found the body. It angered him that Balin would think that he could fix this for Thorin by making him feel pity for him over the loss of his brother. Thorin had had no pity for him in the caves, after all.

“It has _everything_ to do with it, lad,” Balin offered desperately. If he could just get Fíli to listen to him perhaps he could fix this before things got even worse. If Fíli _knew_ perhaps he could understand. “If you would just hear me out—“

“NO!” Fíli roared turning to grab Balin by the upper arm with his good hand as he had grabbed Kíli earlier. “I don’t want to hear it! I DON’T CARE what his rationalization for it is! There is NO excuse for what he did to me! I thought you were on my side but . . . you-you . . . you’re trying to JUSTIFY IT! I should have known that YOU would be on _his_ side.” The last words were said in a poisonous whisper that was almost worse that the yelling had been for the betrayal they contained.

“What “sides,” Fíli?” Balin asked looking at him sadly there was little of Fíli left in his blue eyes and it broke the older dwarf’s heart to see what was left of the dwarfling he had watched grow from birth. “This isn’t a war. We’re not fighting each other. We’re a company.”

“We _were_. We _were_ a family once too. There _was_ trust between us once too,” Fíli snarled shifting his glare to Dwalin when the warrior wrapped a hand around the wrist that was attached to the hand that was gripping Balin’s arm. It wasn’t enough pressure to hurt the boy but it was enough to get his attention even through his blind rage.  

“Lad,” Dwalin said, his tone firm and leaving no room for disagreement, “you need to let go.” The snarl that Fíli let out at his words was _almost_ feral enough to cause Dwalin to remove his hands from the boy and give him a little space but with Balin in danger the warrior wasn’t about to back down from a dwarfling. _Especially_ an enraged dwarfling with a broken hand. Even as his rage made him stronger, it also clouded his judgment Dwalin knew that he could subdue him if he had to. No matter how much it would hurt the warrior to do so.

“That won’t drive me off,” Dwalin snarled back meeting his aggression with aggression to try to snap some sense into him. It was clear that meeting him with reason wasn’t working, just as he’d known it wouldn’t. “I’ve faced much more intimidating things than _you_. Now let him go.” With that Fíli whirled on him. There was no sanity in his eyes but there was hurt and betrayal there. Even so, Fíli released Balin’s arm roughly and turned to face Dwalin fully before wrenching his wrist from the larger dwarf’s grasp.

“What if I hadn’t done it?” Fíli demanded, tears in his voice. “What if I had refused? Would you have raised a hand to me? TELL ME! Would you have struck me?” Dwalin looked away from the pain there. He couldn’t stand it. But he also couldn’t tell the boy what he wanted to hear. If he had to render him unconscious to protect another from him, Dwalin would do it.

“I’m not answering that lad,” Dwalin replied eventually still not looking at the livid blonde dwarf before him. “But we need to get moving again. We’re holding up the group.” Fíli looked over, not missing the way Ori flinched as his gaze moved over him, and realized that they had stopped; wary of passing him for fear that he would lash out at them instead. They were all against him. They were afraid of him. Rather than make him realize that he was being unreasonable, that fed into his rage as well. If they all wanted to side with his uncle and Kíli that was fine with him. He didn’t need them anyway. With a final disdainful glance over his shoulder at the company he started walking once more.

Dwalin stood there awkwardly for a moment, his hand hovering as he tried to decide if he wanted to touch his brother or give him some space. Balin decided it for him, placing a hand on his.

“I’m fine, Brother,” Balin said quietly. “Confused and . . .” he paused shaking his head sadly before he continued “but I’m fine. I promise.” Dwalin wasn’t sure that he believed him, but he didn’t want to argue with Balin. With a deep sigh the warrior patted his brother’s hand before turning to shadow the enraged blonde. He had expected that he would be stopping Fíli from attacking Kíli, but the fact that he had turned on _Balin_ made Dwalin realize the magnitude of what he had agreed to. He only hoped for all their sakes that he was up to the task. The thought crossed his mind that it might be a good idea to disarm the lad before he rejected it. Fíli was angry but not angry enough to draw a weapon on a member of the company.

**ooOO88OOoo**

The rest of the day’s march following that flare of temper passed in a subdued and tense silence. None of them knew what to say. After Fíli’s last outburst Kíli was inconsolable once more. He didn’t weep this time, but he did continually shoot longing glances at his brother. It was clear to everyone that he desperatly wanted to go and _try_ to talk to Fíli and equally as clear to them that this was _not_ a good plan. Thankfully, every time that he tried Thorin, Bofur or Bilbo found some urgent thing that they needed him for that only he was capable of.

After about the third time that this happened Kíli realized that they were trying to keep him separated from his brother. He didn’t understand it. Fíli was angry, yes, but there was no reason that they needed to be separated. They had had arguments before and had always talked them out in the past. This time would be no different. He _knew_ that if he could just _talk_ to Fíli they could work this out. He couldn’t understand why the others were trying to prevent it. Did they _want_ him and Fíli to keep fighting? He silently promised himself that he _would_ find a way to talk to Fíli before the night was out, no matter _what_ it took.

He found his opportunity when they stopped to make camp. Thorin, exhausted by the exertions of the day, had sank to the ground as soon as he was able and was leaning against a tree with his eyes closed, breathing deeply through his nose, his hand twitching slightly as he fought to control his moans of pain. Bilbo had turned to helping Bombur to prepare dinner while Bofur was seeing to business of a _personal_ nature in the forest. Fíli had left camp to the north and no one was left to stop Kíli from following him. With a final glance at his uncle, Kíli began walking in the direction that Fíli had gone.

“Where are you off to?” Thorin asked without opening his eyes. Kíli nearly flinched at the tone before he remembered that he wasn’t actually doing anything wrong. He was simply leaving camp for a moment to speak with his brother. There was nothing wrong with that.

“I need to visit the woods,” Kíli replied casually, a crooked half-smile on his face. “I think I can go without an escort, Uncle.” Thorin made an uncomfortable sound in his throat but said nothing more as Kíli walked out of camp. Thorin did open his eyes to look at Kíli’s retreating back. While he _wanted_ to send someone with him he knew that Kíli was right. The boy was more than old enough to relieve himself in the woods without an escort. With a resigned sigh he leaned his head back against the tree and closed his eyes hoping to catch a few precious moments of sleep while exhaustion rode him more heavily than pain.

He had only just begun to doze when a startled cry woke him. Years of being on edge drove him to instant alertness as he quickly glanced around to look for the source of the cry. There was nothing amiss in the campsite, but everyone was looking north. Another quick survey revealed that Kíli and Fíli were missing from the company. No sooner had the thought registered than another cry—this one filled with pain—came from the forest. Before the sound had faded the company was on the move, rushing into the forest with weapons drawn prepared to defend themselves from whatever danger there was. They left Thorin to make his way as best he could, but he did not fault them for it. At least one of his nephews was in danger, he would have been more upset if any of them had lingered to attempt to aid him.

It was a slow, painful process, and by no means dignified but eventually Thorin got to his feet and made his way towards where he had heard the cry of pain as quickly as he was able. There were no sounds of battle, no clashing of weapons, though there was sobbing and yelling and cursing. He wondered if Kíli had just tripped and aggravated his wounds. He prayed that was all this was. He had prepared himself for the sight of a bit more of his nephew’s blood but nothing could have prepared him for what actually saw once he found them. It was the worst sight that he could have ever imagined, bar one.

Kíli was on the ground, a bleeding gash on the right side of his face and Fíli sitting astride him with _a knife_ pressed to his brother’s throat while Dwalin and Glóin attempted to pull him off Kíli without risking cutting the younger brother’s throat in the process—all while Fíli yelled hoarsely for them to let him go and Kíli pleaded with Fíli to stop this. As it was, they were only restraining Fíli, unable to remove him outright without the possibility of him shaking them off and cutting Kíli in the process. Nori and Bofur were trying to slide Kíli out from under his brother while Óin and Dori attempted to pull Fíli’s legs far enough apart to allow them manage it.

Unable to do anything to help, Thorin watched on in horror. Before, no blood had actually been shed between the brothers, only harsh words exchanges and that had caused damage enough. Even so, they could have come back from that. But this . . . Fíli was holding a knife to Kíli’s throat with murder in his eyes and it was only the physical restraint of others that was keeping him from going through with it. Even if Fíli did come to his senses and apologize, Thorin didn’t see a way they could ever recover from _this_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I . . . I don’t even know what to say for myself . . . I’ll just go sit in the corner and wear the cone of shame, shall I?


	13. Trapped, Afraid and Reacting

Kíli breathed a sigh of relief as he watched his uncle lean against the tree and close his eyes once more. Even thought he wasn’t actually doing anything wrong he had feared that his uncle would know that he was up to something and decide that he did need an escort and use the fact that he was wounded as an excuse to give him one. He was even more relieved when no one else noticed him slipping out of camp. His uncle had been easy for him to divert. Thorin was wounded and exhausted. The others . . . they might have realized what his actual goal was. He was glad that they hadn’t. He never would have gotten to talk to Fíli then. Kíli wasn’t sure why everyone seemed so determined to keep them apart but he knew that that was not going to fix this. Fíli didn’t need space; he needed someone to talk to. Even if he wouldn’t talk to the others, Kíli knew that Fíli would talk to him.

Once he was under the cover of the trees, he turned his attention to trying to locate his brother. It took him longer than it should have to find Fíli’s trail because his brother had been careful to leave little trace of his passing. However, small as the signs were, Kíli was able to follow them. He knew his brother well and had traveled with him often enough to know the tricks that Fíli favored. Once he found the trail, it was easy for him to follow it to Fíli.

He found his brother sitting on a felled log in a small clearing with his golden head in his good hand, the other hanging beside him to trail on the ground. It was clear to Kíli that Fíli was crying. His heart went out to his brother. Other than that day he hadn’t seen Fíli cry in more than forty years. To see it now, it was clear to Kíli that Fíli needed him. He couldn’t suffer through this alone.

“Fíli?” Kíli called softly from across the clearing, trying not to startle his brother overmuch. “Brother?”

“Go away,” Fíli muttered, his voice cracked from the tears in his throat. He never lifted his head. Rather than accept this dismissal Kíli continued walking towards Fíli. He had announced his presence after all. He wasn’t going to startle his brother and be attacked by accident.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Kíli offered gently. “I know that you’re upset about what happened and if you need to—“

“What do you know of it!?” Fíli demanded his head shooting up so that he could glare at his brother. How _dare_ Kíli speak to him of what had happened! There was _no_ way that Kíli could understand the pain he was feeling. _Kíli_ hadn’t had to make the choices that he had. He felt rage take the place of the regret that he had been drowning in at the thought that Kíli would think that things were fine between them, that they could _talk_ as though nothing had happened. Or that they could _talk_ about _that_! There was no way he could talk to Kíli at all, let alone about this.

“I know that you need to talk to someone,” Kíli offered. He could see the anger and panic in his brother’s blue eyes and knew that he had to do something to erase it. Fíli had always been like this. He would never let things out as they came in. Whenever they had fought Kíli had always had to pressure him into revealing what had upset him. This time would be no different. A little bit of pressure and Fíli would vent and it would be over. Kíli was sure of it.

“That someone is not you,” Fíli snarled. The pity in Kíli’s brown eyes and the knowing smile on his face did nothing to make Fíli feel better. In fact, it only made him hate his brother more. How could Kíli stand in front of him and _pretend_ that he understood him now when he hadn’t understood him in the caves? And the pity! Who was Kíli to pity _him?_ It was Kíli’s fault that he was in this condition. No. Kíli was not allowed to feel pity for him.

“If not me then who?” Kíli asked, moving closer to Fíli yet again and ignoring the feral growl that his brother let out at their proximity.

“Anyone else,” Fíli snapped. “I don’t want to see you, let alone talk to you. You betrayed my trust. Broke my heart. You have no right to speak to me let alone ask me to speak to you. You disowned me, remember? You can’t take something like that back, Kíli. Now go away!”

“No,” Kíli replied stubbornly. He closed the last bit of ground between them and stood right next to his brother. “You need me, Fíli. Whether or not you will admit it. You said yourself that you did what you did for me. What good was it if you lose me now?” He reached out to touch his brother’s hair in an attempt to soothe him as he had done when they were children only to have his hand swatted away.

“Don’t. Touch. Me,” Fíli breathed, his voice a deadly whisper. “I can’t bear to have your hands on me. Don’t.”

“Fíli,” Kíli whispered, his tone filled with tears for his brother’s pain. “At least let me fix this one braid. You . . . it came undone during . . . can I do that?” It was clearly a question and Fíli knew that if he refused it would be the end of it. He had fought with Kíli often enough to know his strategy. This was what he always did. Kíli would anger him and then cling to him like a leach, saying nice things and being tender until he was forgiven. It wouldn’t work this time. The hurt was too deep for that, the wrongs too numerous. But Fíli knew. He _knew_ that if he let Kíli touch him it would be the beginning of the end for him. At the first sign of tenderness from his brother he would have no choice but to face what he had done. All the wrongs he had committed that day. He couldn’t bear it. The anger was easier. At least with it the others stayed away from him and he couldn’t hurt them too. No. He couldn’t allow Kíli to touch him.

“Can you do it without touching me?” Fíli snapped, his eyes molten fire as he glared at his brother and swatted his reaching hand away again. He looked away from the hurt in Kíli’s brown eyes as he was rebuffed yet again. He couldn’t deal with that on top of the pain he already felt. He couldn’t stand seeing that he hurt his brother yet again.

“No,” Kíli replied. “And you know it.”

“Then no,” the blonde heir replied in a hard voice. “If you can’t do it without touching me you can’t do it at all. Now go away.” Instead of going away, Kíli just folded his arms across his chest.

“What if I don’t touch you,” he countered. “What if I just stand here and we talk. Can we do that?” Fíli let out a sob at the question. Why wouldn’t Kíli just leave him alone? Why couldn’t he—just for once—do as he was told and go away? Why did he insist that they do this now?

“No,” Fíli sobbed. “Please, _please_ just go away. I-I-I can’t . . . I can’t do this right now, Kíli. _Please_ leave me alone.” He looked up at his brother with tears in his blue eyes. He hoped that it would be enough for to convince Kíli to leave. Surely his brother couldn’t ignore such a plea. Surely Kíli wasn’t so heartless as to force his company on Fíli at that moment.

Rather than drive him off, the sorrow and desperation in Fíli’s eyes drew Kíli in. He couldn’t bear to have Fíli looking at him like that. Not when there was a chance that he could fix it. Rather than leave, he instead rushed forward and wrapped his arms around his brother and tangled his fingers in his tawny mane before pulling Fíli’s face against his chest and holding it there.

Rather than shove him away, Fíli clung to him. He sobbed into his brother’s chest, his tears wetting the fabric and his sobs ripping painfully from his chest. After a moment he began to talk and Kíli just held him as he did.

“I didn’t mean to do it,” Fíli sobbed shaking his head against his brother. “Any of it. I-I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t get to choose. I didn’t choose any of this. And I . . . I almost killed him. I almost killed Uncle! I shed his blood and broke my own hand on his face. I hit him hard enough to _break_ my _hand_! And he wouldn’t even let me _apologize_!” He pulled back to look at Kíli with wide desperate eyes.

“I tired,” Fíli cried, his eyes still begging his brother to understand. “I tried to apologize and he wouldn’t even _hear_ it!” Suddenly something shifted in Fíli and he pushed his brother away from him, disgusted that he had just received comfort from the person who was at fault for all of this anyway. He stood, approaching his brother and glaring at him, not even caring about the shock and fear he could see in his wide brown eyes.

“He just told me that it wasn’t my fault,” Fíli said with a humorless laugh. “That if I wanted to blame someone I should blame him. And he was right to a point. If he’d have just _lowered_ himself just a bit, given up even a _fraction_ of his foolish pride, none of this would have had to happen. But none of that actually matters. If _you_ would have just kept silent like _I_ tried to get you to the Goblin never would have realized our relationship to Uncle and we would never have had to get involved.”

“Now Fíli,” Kíli began softly, backing away from his brother with his pulse thudding in his ears. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with Fíli, but the dwarf before him wasn’t the dwarf that he had grown up with. Gone was any sanity from Fíli’s eyes and in its place was pain and rage and what almost looked like madness. It terrified Kíli to see his brother looking at him that way. He now knew why they had tried to keep them separated. There was no telling what _this_ Fíli would do.

“Now, now, Kíli,” Fíli began cruelly. “You wanted me to talk. You can’t make me stop just because you don’t like what I say. That wasn’t part of the deal. As I said, all of this can be traced back to you. You took my soul when you got me pulled into the Goblin’s little game and he forced me to _beat_ our uncle with my own two hands and then . . . then you had to take my heart too.

“Why!?” Fíli yelled suddenly, the sound a thing of pure anguish and his face crumpled with it. “Why did you have to say that to me? Do you—“

“I said that I’m sorry for that,” Kíli cut in hoping to reason with him and bring back the brother he loved. “I didn’t mean it and I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry.”

“And you think that fixes it,” Fíli spat, his jaw hard thought there were still unshed tears in his eyes. “You think that just because you said that you’re sorry I should forgive you and pretend that you never disowned me, that you never denied my right to check and see if our uncle still lived? How do you expect me to forget that Kíli?”

“Because you love me,” Kíli replied as though it were the simplest thing in the world. “That’s why Uncle isn’t angry with you for what you did. He loves you.”

“That’s not why he’s not angry,” Fíli snapped looking away in an attempt to control himself. At the moment he wanted nothing more than to hit his brother and he _knew_ that it was wrong.

“Then why?” Kíli demanded moving back into Fíli’s line of sight and glaring at him defiantly. “I’d _love_ to know why else he’d forgive you. I guarantee you if any of the others had done that to him he wouldn’t have forgiven them quite so readily. He didn’t even what your apology, remember?”

“Because of YOU!” Fíli roared rounding on his brother the urge to strike him rising in his gut once more with a passion. “It’s because of you. He forgave me because I did it to save _you_. He loves you more than he loves me. More than he loves himself. He hurt us both to save you.”

“That’s not—“

“Kíli, I swear by Mahal that if you finish that sentence you will not like the consequences,” Fíli breathed, his voice deceptively calm even if his eyes were wild. “I can’t stand it. I don’t want to hear any more lies. I’m done talking to you. Go away.”

“Well I’m not done talking to you,” Kíli replied. “Are you even listening to yourself? Do you even hear what you’re saying? Fíli, it makes no sense. How can you say that—“

“Fine,” Fíli snapped turning and preparing to move deeper into the woods. He had to get away. The things that Kíli were saying . . . they hurt. He could see the logic in it and it hurt. He couldn’t stay. He couldn’t face this yet. He had to go.

“If you won’t leave I will,” he said, his voice a panicked whisper as the urge to flee seized him. He made it maybe two steps before he felt Kíli’s hand close around his right arm and before he could stop himself he had a dagger in his left and had swiped out with it, slashing along Kíli’s right cheek deeply, the blood flowing almost instantly as Kíli cried out in shock and released him. His breath came in pants as he stared at the red blood flowing from the gash in his baby brother’s face. He felt numb. What had he done?

Kíli stood there for a second in shock before he raised his left hand and gently touched the wound in his face before pulling it away to look at his fingers. They were covered in blood. Bright red blood. His own blood. That his brother had drawn. The wound didn’t physically hurt yet, but it hurt him to know that Fíli was capable of raising a knife to him.

“Kíli, I . . .” Fíli breathed looking at his own hand as if it had betrayed him and staring at the knife in his hand in disgust as his brother’s blood glinted ruby on the blade. He backed slowly away from his brother, trying to distance himself from the act by distancing himself from his brother.

“You-you cut me,” Kíli said, his voice soft and filled with hurt, shock and confusion. He was still trying to come to grips with the fact that his brother had pulled a knife on him. It made no sense. Fíli would never . . . but he had.

“YOU CUT ME!” Kíli roared anger and betrayal fueling him and causing him to approach his brother as Fíli continued to back away from him.

“Kíli, I—“ Fíli’s eyes were wide as he begged Kíli to understand that he hadn’t meant it. It had been a reflex. He hadn’t actually meant to cut his brother. It had just happened.

“You what?!” Kíli demanded still walking towards his brother, herding him towards a tree so that he could not flee forever. They needed to talk about this, now more than ever and Fíli owed it to him now.

“I didn’t mean to,” Fíli breathed. “I swear it. I would never—“

“But you did,” Kíli spat. “Do you want to touch the blood, Brother? Would that make it real to you because I assure you that whether or not you ever would, you _did_ just raise a weapon to me in anger.”

“It wasn’t anger,” Fíli pleaded. “It was panic. Kíli, I’m so sorry. I—“ He flinched as Kíli laughed, a cruel humorless sound.

“So what?” the dark-haired brother demanded. “I’m supposed to just let this go with an apology but you aren’t expected to offer me the same courtesy? I don’t think so, Fíli. My transgression wasn’t nearly as bad as this one.”

“It wasn’t!?” Fíli demanded incredulously growing angry that Kíli could think that what he did was any less hurtful than what Fíli had just done. “How do you figure that, Brother? True, I drew blood but that can be treated easily. It probably won’t even scar and it was an accident. How do you propose we bandage my heart? Should we just put it back in after you ripped it from my chest? Do you think that works? Can someone survive without a heart even for so brief a time?” Kíli scoffed at his brother’s words.

“Don’t be so melodramatic, Fíli,” Kíli scoffed. “Yes, what I said was hurtful. I’ll acknowledge that. And I shouldn’t have said it. It was a mistake and I _am_ sorry. But . . . I didn’t raise a _weapon_ to you. All I used were words and—“

“And you think that should make it hurt any less?” Fíli snapped his rage back with full force. “Tell me, the mark on your face, does it hurt yet because let me assure you, the pain I felt at what you said to me was instantaneous and it hasn’t faded with time. It STILL hurts, Kíli. Even after your apology. The ache is still there.”

“Grow up!” Kíli yelled. “You’re supposed to be the “adult.” You’re Thorin’s heir. You honestly mean to tell me that a few harsh words said in a time of pain and distress are enough to deliver a mortal wound? That’s ridiculous! You’ll be alright; you just have to let it go.”

“You don’t understand!” Fíli yelled back. “You don’t get to tell me to “let it go!” And you don’t get to talk to me of being ‘alright.’ You have no idea what I’m going through!”

“Maybe not!” Kíli agreed with another scoff. “But I _do_ know that you’re not handling it well. Picking fights with Uncle. With _Balin_. You’re acting like a child. Maybe it’s _you_ that Uncle should have left home with Mother. At least then we wouldn’t all have to put up with your temper. Let it go. Move on!” He couldn’t stand to hear those words from Kíli—the very words that a quite little voice within him taunted him with: that he wasn’t good enough, that he should have been smarter and thought of another way out of that situation, that he should have just stayed at home. To hear them spoken by another broke something within him and before he realized what he was doing Fíli had grabbed Kíli by the collar with the hand that still held the knife and drug him forward so that their faces were mere inches apart.

“Say that again and see what happens,” Fíli snarled, madness in his eyes once more but Kíli was too far gone himself to heed the warning and looked levelly into his brothers eyes before another humorless smile crossed his lips.

“Uncle. Should have left you. With Mother,” Kíli said slowly, making sure to enunciate every syllable. “It’s obvious that you aren’t cut out for this and everyone knows it.” With a feral growl Fíli tackled Kíli to the ground, ignoring the cry of pain that burst from his brother as his wounded back made contact with the ground, the knife that was still in his hand pressed against Kíli’s throat just on the edge of drawing blood.

“Say it again,” Fíli snarled. “I _dare_ you. Tell me again that I should have been left at home. That Uncle should disinherit me in favor of you. Say it! Tell me that everyone knows it, just as they know that you’re the favorite. SAY IT!” Kíli didn’t say anything but his right hand came up to grip his brother’s left wrist in an attempt to push the knife away from his neck. He knew that he stood no chance of doing it, Fíli had always been stronger than him and with his bodyweight above Kíli and Kíli’s other arm pinned between them . . . Kíli just had to hope that Fíli didn’t truly mean to kill him because there was nothing that he could do to stop him if he did. His only hope was to beg.

“Please,” he whispered afraid to draw too much air for fear of slitting his own throat, “please, Fíli, don’t do this. I-I don’t want to die. Please stop this.” Kíli felt himself flinch as the tip of the blade broke the skin and felt his eyes fill with tears at the realization that his brother was going to kill him.

“Give me one good reason why I should,” Fíli breathed.

“Because,” Kíli said, closing his eyes as he tried to think of a reason that would get through to this version of his brother. “Because—“ He couldn’t think of anything but was saved from trying any more by the arrival of the company. Before he or Fíli could move, there were hands grasping both of them. Attempting to prize them apart. For an impossibly long time they were deadlocked. Despite the straining of muscles on both sides no one was gaining the upper hand. It was only after a swift blow to the back of Fíli’s head by Dwalin’s elbow that the blonde heir went limp, the knife falling from his nerveless hand, and Kíli was able to be pulled from underneath him.  

For a time no one said anything. They were in shock, looking between the dark-headed brother sobbing in Balin’s arms and the blond-headed brother unconscious in Dwalin’s. They all looked to Thorin for guidance but he was just as shocked as they were if not more so. Eventually it was Dwalin that broke the silence, coming to stand beside Thorin with Fíli still in his arms.

“Thorin, what do you want—“ Dwalin began.

“Take him back to camp,” Thorin breathed his eyes closed and his face pained. “Disarm him and don’t let him out of your sight until I decide what to do about this.”

“Do you want me to tie his hands?” Dwalin asked, his stomach twisting at the idea of binding the hands of the dwarfling sleeping so peacefully in his arms, all the rage and pain erased from his face and looking just as he had the countless times he had fallen asleep in meetings or on the edge of the arena after practices. He would do it if Thorin ordered it, but not otherwise. And even if it was ordered he might have to have another do it. He wasn’t sure that he could bear it.

“No,” Thorin choked out, his blue eyes flying open and looking at Dwalin in panic. “Don’t do that! Just . . . just watch him. Don’t bind him, and don’t harm him if you can avoid it.” Thorin sighed as he watched them walk away. His heart was torn between walking with Dwalin and waiting for Fíli to wake and demanding an explanation for his behavior and wanting to check on Kíli. In the end, he decided that he would do the latter. After all, Kíli was awake and it might take some time for Fíli to regain consciousness and he wasn’t entirely sure yet how he should deal with his errant heir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what. I actually have a new chapter for you already. It wasn’t its turn to be written but it refused to leave me alone so I went ahead and typed it up. I hope that you like it! I also hope that it helps to explain Fíli’s actions. While unjustifiable, they were not without a cause. I hope that his helps to reveal what led up to the disaster we walked in on in the last chapter.


	14. Stitches, Harsh Truths and Punishment

“Come on, Lad,” Balin said gently trying to get Kíli to his feet so that they could return to camp. “We need to see to the cut on your face. We need to stop the bleeding. Get it bandaged up.”

“No,” Kíli said, his voice a low whisper as he refused to allow Balin to draw him to his feet.

“Kíli,” Balin said reaching for the young heir again. “We have to treat it, lad. If we don’t .  . .” he trailed off unsure of what he should say next before he decided that they couldn’t allow it to go unsaid. Too much had been left unsaid and had caused nothing but trouble. They couldn’t pretend that this hadn’t happened. Fíli had attacked Kíli. He had drawn his brother’s blood. There was no way to avoid admitting it and it would be wrong to try.

“I know that it could probably wait a bit. Fíli keeps his weapons clean but . . . it could still get infected. And—”

“Good,” Kíli snapped cutting Balin off. “If it gets infected it’ll be his fault. He _meant_ to kill me before you all stopped him. If that’s what he actually wants I’ll let him have his way. I’ll die of the wound that _he_ gave me. Let’s see if he likes _that_!”

“Kíli—“ Balin began only to be cut off once more.

“What!?” Kili sobbed. “He tried to kill me, Balin. My own brother. Fíli . . . he . . . It hurts.”

“Your cheek?” Thorin asked quietly as he slowly and painfully knelt beside his nephew. He placed a gentle hand on Kíli’s chin and angled his head so that he could better see the wound. It ran along his cheekbone with about a finger’s width of unmarred skin beside both his nose and hairline. Had it have been much higher Kíli might have lost his eye. Kíli flinched when he pulled the skin apart to check the depth of it but didn’t pull away. Thorin sighed. It was deep. To the bone in places. There was no way that it wouldn’t leave a scar. He only hoped that by the time Kíli saw his mother again he wouldn’t tell her what actually happened if she asked. Dís would kill Thorin for letting her boys come to blows like this.

“Does your cheek hurt?” Thorin repeated when Kíli didn’t answer him.

“A bit,” Kíli replied quietly, looking at his uncle for the first time since he had left the clearing they had made camp in. Thorin flinched at the lack of life in his brown eyes. Kíli was in shock over what had happened and was beginning to withdraw into himself. Thorin only hoped that he would come back out of it.

“It’s starting to sting,” Kíli said in a dead voice as he reached up to touch it only to have his hand stopped by his uncle.

“You don’t want to do that,” Thorin said gently. “The more you touch it the more it is going to start to hurt. Leave it alone if you can.”

“Thorin,” Balin said looking down at the two of them with regret, “we need to get back to camp. It’s already growing dark and I’m not sure that I can keep both of you safe by myself if goblins do come. I know that the boy needs a minute but . . .”

“I understand,” Thorin replied. “Come Kíli, back to camp.” Where Kíli had resisted Balin, he didn’t have it in him to fight his uncle. His anger was beginning to fade and leaving in its place sadness, weariness and an underlying question of “why?”. He couldn’t understand how things had escalated quite so quickly with his brother. One moment, Fíli had been there, hugging him, crying and seeming like they were going to reconcile and then . . . his brother had been gone. Kíli hadn’t even recognized the dwarf that had attacked him. He had looked like Fíli, but he hadn’t _been_ Fíli.

That’s what he tried to convince himself of at any rate as he watched Balin help his uncle to his feet. That hadn’t been Fíli that attacked him because his brother could never do that to him. It kept repeating in his mind. Fíli hadn’t done it. Not Fíli. He was almost desperate to believe it because the alternative—that Fíli hated him enough to try to kill him—didn’t bear consideration. But a small, poisonous voice within himself said that he was a fool. Fíli had done it. If he needed proof he only had to look to the blood still pouring from his face and the ache building in his cheek. He suddenly felt very cold. It was almost nice because with the cold came numbness and the throbbing of his back from where Fíli had tackled him onto his wounds and the building ache in his cheek faded. Even so, it scared him and he wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to fight it off.

When Balin took his arm gently and began to steer him back to camp he didn’t resist him but allowed himself to be led into the firelight. He didn’t even protest when Óin began to stitch the wound on his cheek. The sharp pains as the needle passed through his flesh were nothing compared to the ache that was beginning in his heart. He just sat there silently and stared into the flames.

Balin watched as Kíli’s face was stitched closed. There had been a brief argument about whether to cauterize it to stop the bleeding or to stitch it to minimize the scarring and in the end stitching had won out. None of them wanted to have to look at the ugly scar that cauterizing the wound that Fíli had left on Kíli would cause and the blood flow was already beginning to slow. But what worried him more than the wound was Kíli’s stillness.

He had always been an active thing, even as a babe. He never held still for long and even when he did there was always a kind of nervous energy to him that showed that it was only sheer force of will keeping him in place. That or fear of punishment if he ran out on his lessons again. But now . . . there was none of that. He was perfectly still, almost as if he had been carved from stone, and didn’t even move—didn’t even flinch—as Óin sewed. It was unnatural.

It was also unnatural for him to be without Fíli. They had never been truly separated before. Not since Kíli was big enough to leave his mother’s arms. They had eaten together, trained together, slept together. One was never without the other and the sight of Fíli’s unconscious form next to Dwalin—with his brother clearly acting in a jailor capacity—and Kíli’s still, expressionless form at the fire . . . it was wrong.  He took a deep breath to combat the anger it awoke in him before he set off to find Thorin.

He knew that Thorin was both their king and their uncle but he was at least partially to blame for this. Balin had seen it for years—the way that Thorin held Fíli at arm’s length while pulling Kíli in—but had said nothing. He had always tried to convince himself that Thorin had done it to teach Fíli that as a king he would never have the luxury of allowing others too close. He had disagreed with such a lesson, but it wasn’t his place to say so. But if Fíli had ever shown even a _hint_ that it bothered him, Balin would have thrown propriety out the window long before. Until that day he had never even realized that Fíli had noticed the difference.

But now that he knew, he could stay silent no longer. He had held his tongue both out of respect for Thorin as his king and to avoid causing his friend to relive painful memories but the time for that had long since passed. He needed to find Thorin to do now what he should have done years before: confront him about his treatment of his heir.

**ooOO88OOoo**

After Thorin had made his way back to camp, he sat under the same tree he had sat at when the first got there with his head in his hands. He didn’t want to watch as they tended Kíli’s wound. He also had a painful question pressing on his mind: what was he going to do?

 What Fíli had just done . . . Thorin’s heir or no, it could not go unaddressed, unpunished. He had drawn a knife on his brother in an argument. Even if no one had said it, Thorin had no doubt in his mind that there had been an argument. Kíli had tried to reconcile, Fíli wasn’t ready, they had fought and blood had been shed. Even so, an argument, no matter how heated an argument, did not excuse his actions. If he had just hit his brother . . . that would be something different and Thorin _might_ have been able to brush it off as boys being boys, but drawing a knife and cutting him before holding it to his throat. Thorin let out a sigh that was nearly a sob. As both his King and his uncle Thorin _had_ to address this transgression. However he was at a loss at how to do it.

It was too severe a transgression to ignore but how could he punish his nephew. Even if he had been one of the others it was not severe enough of a crime to merit the harshest of punishments—death.  If Fíli had _truly_ tried to kill his brother they would have found him sitting on a corpse. It took them a moment to find the brothers and Fíli had had more than enough time to do it had he have wanted to. He had always been stronger than Kíli and had had the better position. From how they were, Fíli could have killed Kíli even if Kíli wasn’t already injured. No, he hadn’t actually _meant_ to kill his brother, no matter how it had looked. It didn’t merit anything nearly so harsh as death.

 But it was also impossible for Thorin to punish Fíli as they had when he was an errant child.

It was too great an error for that. Drawing a knife on your brother merited a harsher punishment than being confined to your quarters without dinner—not that they _had_ quarters to confine him to at any rate. And Fíli was _far_ too old for a spanking, even had Thorin been in any condition to do it. There was only one thing that he could do to punish his nephew for this and it broke his heart. The Uncle in him argued that it was too harsh. That Fíli was broken and that Kíli had most likely goaded him into it but the King in him knew that it was the only just thing that he could do. He _had_ to order it. He only hoped that in the end Kíli’s softer side would win out and he would show his brother mercy.

No sooner had he come to his decision than he heard Balin’s voice calling his name. He looked up wearily at his friend and confidant with a sigh. He wasn’t sure what this was about but he could see the fire burning in Balin’s dark eyes. The other dwarf was furious and that fury was directed at him. He felt a silent sob rise up his throat. Why did this have to happen now? Right after he had decided on a punishment for his nephew that had broken his heart.

“Please, Balin,” Thorin breathed, emotion choking his words and making them nearly inaudible, “I don’t know what you want from me but can’t it wait? Please?”

“No, Thorin, this can’t wait,” Balin replied sharply. “It’s waited for more than seventy years. It can’t wait any longer and has probably waited too long as it is.” Thorin was confused by his words. What had Balin held on to for more than seventy years that now needed to be addressed so urgently? Part of him knew that it nearly had to have something to do with Fíli and Kíli but he wasn’t sure what it could be. What had Balin waited seventy years to tell him?

“In that case, speak,” Thorin replied with a resigned sigh. “I will listen.” 

“It’s about the lads,” Balin said his voice as hard as his eyes as he glared down at his wounded king. “About Fíli in particular. You have done wrong by that boy, Thorin. His entire life. I know why you did it but that _does not_ make it acceptable. I’ve never said anything before because how you conduct your private life is not really any of my business and I didn’t think that he realized it. But he did, Thorin. He realized it. He _noticed_ that you treat Kíli and Dís differently than you do him.”

“I do not treat him differently than I do them,” Thorin snarled. He had heard that for the first time from Fíli himself and had believed it to be the hurt his nephew felt lashing out and saying things that were untrue in an effort to spread his own pain and make it more bearable, but for Balin to say it. He was old enough to know better.

“You do,” Balin snapped back, uncowed by Thorin’s rage. He knew it to be impotent and even as a part of him screamed that it was wrong to attack Thorin with this while he was wounded and weary, part of him knew that this would be the only chance that he would get to make Thorin listen.

“You always have,” Balin continued. “It’s not his fault, Thorin. It’s not the boy’s fault that he looks so much like Frerin.” Thorin flinched at the name by Balin carried on unperturbed. “He doesn’t even know _why_ you treat him the way you do. It’s unfair, Thorin. Fíli isn’t Frerin and even if he was it wouldn’t matter. Both of them loved you dearly. Are you willing to lose Fíli’s love because of the past? Are you willing to lose him because you still haven’t forgiven yourself for Frerin’s death? Because _that’s_ what’s going to happen. If you don’t talk to him about this, and _soon_ , you are going to lose Fíli. Can you bear to have that on your conscience as well?”

“If what you say is true,” Thorin said slowly as he looked back over his interactions with his eldest nephew in his memories and realized that there always had been distance there that wasn’t present with Kíli, “how can I fix it? How can I apologize for a lifetime of distance? Am I supposed to tell him that I’m sorry and that it was nothing he did, that there was no way that he could control the fact that he looks too much like my dead brother for me to stand? Is that what I’m supposed to tell him?” By the end of his speech, Thorin was glaring up at Balin, and his voice had gained strength. He sounded much more like himself than he had all day.

“You’re supposed to tell him the truth,” Balin replied gently. His anger was appeased at the fact that Thorin was trying to think of what to say. It meant that he would do it. “You can’t do anything else. What comes from it, that’s for Fíli to decide, but you _can’t_ _not_ tell him. You owe him that much.”

“I will talk to him,” Thorin replied sadly looking away from Balin once again. “If he will listen to me, I will talk to him.” Content that he had done what he came to do, Balin turned to walk off. “Balin,” Thorin called. “May I ask one more favor of you tonight?” He waited until the white-haired dwarf nodded before he continued. “Ask Dwalin . . . ask him to put the keenest edge on a knife that he is capable of. It needs to be perfect.” As soon as he finished he question, he lowered his eyes, it was almost as if Thorin was ashamed of the request. As if it were something dirty and vile.

“And what do you intend to do with this knife?” Balin asked shrewdly. He had an inkling about what Thorin had decided to do about Fíli’s assault on Kíli and hoped to Mahal that he was wrong, though Thorin’s behavior told him that he wasn’t.

“What must be done,” Thorin replied levelly looking back at Balin with indescribably pain in his eyes. “Will you ask him for me?”

“I will,” Balin replied. “I just hope that you know what you’re doing. If it’s what I think it is, you’re playing a dangerous game.” With that Balin turned and walked away. Thorin’s reply, when it came, was so quiet that Balin never heard it.

“So do I,” Thorin whispered closing his eyes once more and running a hand through his hair in frustration. “So do I.”

**ooOO88OOoo**

Fíli awoke slowly. His head ached. A dull throbbing ache originating at the back of his head. At first he couldn’t remember why but then it all came back to him. His confrontation with Kíli in the woods . . . cutting his brother’s face . . . attacking him . . . holding a knife to his throat as Kíli looked up at him in fear and _begged_ him to stop. .. and then Dwalin and Glóin and then nothing. It wasn’t hard to piece together what had happened next. Dwalin had knocked him unconscious. It fit and it made sense.

He groaned as what he had done settled into his mind and tried to open his eyes, wondering if they had brought him back to camp or left him where he had fallen, only to close them just as quickly. The light from the fire had hurt. But at least it answered his question: he was in camp. He let out another groan and decided that he would sit up and then go from there.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he heard Dwalin say from beside him. “I hit you fairly hard. You might want to just lay there a while longer.” He tried to nod to show that he understood but the movement hurt and he moaned in response instead. With his eyes closed, he could hear a strange rasping sound. It was familiar and he knew that he should be able to place it but he couldn’t get his mind to work properly. It almost sounded like a . . .

“Are you sharpening something, Dwalin?” he asked quietly. He knew that he could just open his eyes and look if he really wanted to, but it was easier this way. Less painful. Not that he didn’t deserve the pain that he was in. He _had_ attacked his brother after all.

“Aye lad,” Dwalin replied in a tone that Fíli couldn’t place. It almost sounded like regret. “Your uncle asked my brother to ask me to sharpen a knife for him. I almost told him to do it himself, but . . . he’s in no shape to be doing any of what he’s tried to do today. He needs to be in a bed resting not traveling and looking after fighting nephews.”

“So he saw that?” Fíli asked, opening an eye to look at Dwalin and gage his reaction to what Fíli had done. He halfway expected to see anger or hatred but instead he saw sadness and regret in the older warrior.

“Lad . . . everyone saw that,” Dwalin said with a sigh. He was pleased to see that Fíli’s gaze contained none of the rage that had been there since their escape from Goblin Town but it hurt him to see it as well. Like his brother, he had an idea why Thorin wanted such a keen edge on a knife and he regretted that he would be the one to do it. Fíli . . . what Thorin had planned might just destroy him more than he already was. It would have been easier for Dwalin to carry out his task if Fíli was still possessed by rage, but to do it knowing that it would be _this_ Fíli, the one that he had had a hand in raising, that it was meant for . . . he was greatly reconsidering his first impulse to tell Thorin to sharpen the knife himself.

“I thought so,” Fíli whispered. “Are they angry with me? Is Kíli . . . is he alright?”

“They’re confused,” Dwalin replied. “We all are. _Why_? Why did you do it, lad?” Fíli sat up slowly and turned away from the large dwarf, unable to look at him and see the confusion and disappointment there.

“I . . . it doesn’t matter,” Fíli whispered disconsolately. “It doesn’t matter why I did it. I shouldn’t have. There’s nothing that I can say to justify it.”

“So you won’t even try to speak in your own defense?” Dwalin asked incredulously. He knew that Fíli was right. There was nothing that he could say to erase what he had done, but that he wouldn’t even _try_ . . . that didn’t sit well with him. The boy should at least _try_. Perhaps then Thorin could be persuaded to do something less drastic.

“What’s the point?” Fíli asked, looking at Dwalin again to give him a small, sad smile. “Nothing I can say can erase what I did. Kíli will still have the mark from where I cut him. Odds are that he’ll have it forever. I didn’t get a good look at it, but I think it was deep.”

“It was,” Dwalin responded. “Óin stitched it shut a bit ago. He’ll carry a scar from it.” He watched as Fíli’s head came to rest on his knee with a sob. He ached to reach out and comfort the boy but he wasn’t sure how much Fíli would appreciate it. And as little as he wanted to watch this version of Fíli undergo punishment he wouldn’t do anything to risk bringing back the other.

“Other than the . . . the wound,” Fíli asked without raising his head. “Other than that, how is he?”

“I don’t know,” Dwalin replied honestly. “I’ve been here with you. I haven’t had the opportunity to talk with him.”

“Uncle asked you to guard me, didn’t he?” Fíli said swallowing a lump at the idea that his uncle had felt that he needed a guard. For the first time he also realized that the now familiar weight of his weapons was gone as well. He had been disarmed and put under a guard. His uncle no longer trusted him, not that he was deserving of trust at the moment. He had just attacked Kíli in a rage. If he could attack his brother could any of them truly feel safe with him?

“He did,” Dwalin agreed giving into his urge to put a hand on the boy’s shoulders. Fíli flinched at the unexpected touch by didn’t rage at Dwalin for it. It was a good sign.

“But,” he continued almost as if he had heard the rest of Fíli’s thoughts, “he also told me not to bind your hands. That I was to disarm you and keep you here but not to tie or harm you. He still loves you, Fíli. He just . . . you put him in a difficult position with that stunt you pulled.”

“I know,” Fíli replied looking at Dwalin with eyes that were filled with abject sadness. He knew that he had placed his uncle into a position he should never have been in. He knew that there was retribution coming for his actions and he would not fight it. It would be difficult enough for his uncle to pass judgment on him without him begging for mercy like a child. Even though Kíli had been right. It would have been better if he had never come. So many things would have gone differently. He wouldn’t have hurt everyone that he loved in the same day if he had just stayed at home.  

“I don’t think that you do,” Dwalin said, shaking his head and placing a gentle hand on the boy’s face to force him to meet his eyes. “Fíli, I can only think of one reason that your uncle would want a knife this sharp. What he’s got planned for you . . . it’s drastic. Do you understand me? You need to think of an excuse for your actions and an amazing apology. If you can do that and throw yourself on Thorin’s mercy then—“

“No,” Fíli said, the same sad smile on his face and a gentle shake of his head. “No matter what was said, no matter why I did it, I still did it. I still drew a knife and cut Kíli in anger. It doesn’t matter that it was an accident or that it was done in blind panic, I still did it. I’ll endure whatever punishment Uncle feels is just.”

“You’re a brave lad,” Dwalin whispered closing his eyes and wondering if Fíli would be so calm if he actually knew what was coming. “I only hope that you don’t regret your decision not to plead for mercy.” Once he finished speaking he withdrew his hand and turned his attention back to the knife in his hands. If Fíli was intent on enduring whatever Thorin could throw at him, Dwalin was going to make sure that the indignity would be carried out as quickly and painlessly as possible. As little as he liked what he was doing, the only mercy that he could offer the boy was to ensure that the weapon used to do it would be as sharp as possible.

As Fíli watched Dwalin’s face as his hands worked the knife, he realized with sudden cold dread what was coming. As Dwain had said, there was only one need to have a knife that sharp. He watched as the large warrior tested the edge against a patch of hair on the back of his hand with horror flooding his veins. He only hoped that it wouldn’t hurt even as a part of him almost hoped that it did. At least then it might help ease his guilt at what he had done.

**ooOO88OOoo**

It happened after dinner. Thorin called the company to assemble around the fire to witness the punishment of his nephew. Though he was weary beyond endurance, Thorin stood. He felt that if he was going to pass judgment on his nephew it should be in the most official manner possible. After all, this wasn’t an uncle punishing a nephew; this was a king punishing a subject for a transgression. Or at least that was what he tried to tell himself as Fíli was brought forward into the light of the fire between Dwalin and Glóin. He offered no resistance and walked between them as docile as a lamb, his blue eyes filled with regret, sadness and a hint of fear. Thorin could barely stand to look at him. Fíli looked so small and scared between the large forms of his cousins. It broke his heart.  And his eyes . . . Thorin couldn’t look at them. Not with what he was about to say. Instead he focused on the tip of Fíli’s nose as he pronounced his judgment.

“Fíli, son of Dís, daughter of Thráin,” Thorin began trying to keep the quiver from his voice as he pronounced his nephew’s fate. He had to stop to swallow heavily before he could continue. “This day you have dishonored yourself and your family by drawing a knife on your brother and shedding his blood. As much as it pains me to do this, such an act cannot go unpunished.” He took a deep breath. What he had to say next . . . he had no desire to say at all. He looked at Fíli once more and realized that his nephew was weeping. Fíli knew what Thorin had decided and it was making him cry before the sentence had even been delivered. The king felt tears come to his own eyes as his heir stood there awaiting judgment without offering a word in his own defense. He heart begged him again to stop this but he ignored it. This _had_ to be done.

“I-I have thought long and hard on . . . on an appropriate punishment for such a . . . a transgression . . .  and have come to the decision that there is only one just thing to do,” Thorin continued beginning to lose the battle of keeping emotion from his words. “As you raised a knife to your kin so shall he do to you. Where you drew his blood, he will take something different from you.” Again Thorin had to pause, it was only Balin’s steadying hand on his arm that allowed him to continue and even then he had to close his eyes and take several deep breaths before he could continue and deliver his final judgment. “You drew his heart’s blood and spilled his life-force in an argument and in the process lost honor. In recompense, Kíli, your brother, will be permitted to take the symbol of that honor in front of the assembled company. As your victim, he may take your beard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we are all. As soon as this story lets me sleep things will go back to normal on the updates (In other words I’ve been spoiling you with the daily update thing and it won’t keep up forever) Not sure when that will happen but I do know that after today the next possible update will be Monday :) I work all weekend so no updates while I’m at work (though I can write on pen and ink) Also a note, my laptop screen died and I’m using the TV as a monitor so .. . yeah. I have a new one ordered but until it gets here it might throw a wrench in the updating works :/
> 
>  
> 
> And for those of you following my other stories, they HAVE NOT been dropped, they are in the works this one has just consumed me for a moment. There are fragments of chapters for both of the others done and they will be up on schedule next week, I promise :) It just felt cruel to hold this once I already had it done. I hope that you can forgive me :)


	15. Flashbacks, Anger, Tears and Explanations

Shocked murmurs went through the company at the pronouncement. Thorin was going to have Kíli shave Fíli’s beard? They had to have misheard. That was . . . they couldn’t come up with a word to describe just how severe of a punishment it was. It was  . . . abnormal. While it was not an unheard of as a punishment for transgressions against another, it was nearly always offered in a threat that was never carried out. None of them had actually ever seen it done. Surely Thorin was bluffing! He was trying to frighten the lad into an apology, but one glance at the King’s solemn face showed that this was no bluff. It was real. At that, the murmurs faded and a hushed silence fell over the group. None of them even dared to move for fear of disturbing the tense atmosphere. The lone exception to this was Bilbo, who was looking from one pale, grave face to the next as though hoping someone would explain what was happening.

But even their shock paled in comparison to Kíli’s.

He had been standing at his uncle’s side barely listening to the proceedings and refusing to look at his brother but at his uncle’s words he looked up at Thorin in confusion. His uncle wanted him to shave Fíli’s _beard_!? The beard that Fili had been growing for _years_? The one that he braided every night with care? And he wanted him to do it in front of everyone so that they could watch Fíli’s shame? Kíli didn’t want _this_. He was hurt and angry, that was true, but this . . . it was too much. True Fíli had shed his blood, but it hadn’t been in cold blood. If his brother had attempted to knife him in his sleep he could maybe see it, but that hadn’t been what happened.

Before he could protest the sentence, a knife with a finely honed edge was pressed into his hand by his uncle and Balin’s was leading him to his brother’s side with a gentle hand around his arm. He wasn’t sure why but something about the situation made his heart rate speed and his breathing grow labored. He was panicking and he wasn’t sure why. When Fíli looked at him with sad blue eyes that were _his_ —The terrifying rage was gone and his brother was back!—and offered him a sad half-smile it did not help. Rather, something within him stirred painfully to life at the quiet acceptance he saw in the blue depths of his brother’s eyes and he inexplicably wanted to sob.

“Please,” Fíli whispered, just for Kíli’s ears, “If ever you loved me don’t draw this out. Do it quickly and get it over with. Please.” With a shaking hand, Kíli raised the knife and placed it gently against his brother’s cheek. Fíli did not ask him to stop, but he was trembling and his breath was coming in gasps as he stood there waiting for his brother to begin. He wished that Kíli would just do it already. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold himself together and refused to shame himself by breaking down completely. He took a strange sense of calm from the steady hands of Dwalin and Glóin on his arms. They were a grounding force. Something that he could focus on rather than the cool metal against his cheek. 

Feeling the lad shudder, Dwalin gave his arm a gentle squeeze in an attempt to comfort him, but knew that he had failed. At the moment the warrior hated Thorin for putting his nephew through this on the same day that he had been forced to endure what he had in Goblin Town. This was beyond cruel. Older dwarves than him had lashed out in pain before and done more lasting harm and they had not faced such a punishment. True, they had actually lost loved ones, but he didn’t see where Fíli’s situation was any better. He had been forced to learn that under certain situations he would be willing to kill his uncle, after all. Thorin should have been more lenient. Everyone would have understood. But this . . . Dwalin couldn’t speak for the others, but he could not understand this.

Kíli looked at his brother as he stood there holding the knife, taking in the trembling of his limbs and the large tears rolling into the blonde hair of his beard for what would be the last time for months. As he did, Fíli’s words echoed in his mind before morphing into another voice entirely: one that chilled his blood: that of the Goblin King. He heard again the words that had been spoken in the cave to his brother: _“All a quick cut like that will do is bleed him. That's not what I want from you. You are to _hurt_  him.”_ 

Suddenly he realized why the situation had unnerved him so. There were too many parallels between that situation and this one. While Fíli wasn’t actually bound, he may as well have been. He was being held in place by Glóin and Dwalin. He wasn’t there willingly. None of this wasn’t willing on his part. True, he hadn’t resisted or protested, but he could not want this. Kíli clinched his hand around the knife as he realized that things were playing out just as they had in the goblin caves. Once more Kíli had been drug to the side of a restrained family member to inflict harm on them at the urging of another. As he looked into his brother’s tear-filled eyes, he felt resolve rise within him. He had been powerless to refuse that time, but he _would not_ do this. It wasn’t as if his uncle would beat him for his refusal. He pulled the knife away from his brother before tossing it to the ground and turning to face his uncle.

“It may be mine to take but I don’t want it,” Kíli said ashamed of the quiver in his voice. “I _won’t_ do this. He told me that it was an accident when he cut my face and I believe him. As to how you found us . . . I . . . I said hurtful things to him. Again. I provoked him and, yes, we struggled over the knife but . . . I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t have stopped him had he truly wanted me dead. I won’t do this, Uncle. His actions were his own but I had a hand in them. He doesn’t deserve this.”

“I’m not saying that I’ve forgiven him or that we should forget what he did, but _this_ . . . it’s too much and . . . and I won’t do it,” Kíli continued. “If you want his beard shaved off you will have to do it yourself. I won’t stop you from carrying out the sentence but I won’t do it for you and I won’t watch as you do.” With that, Kíli turned and walked away into the darkness. Thorin closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. Even though the punishment had been just he had hoped—no prayed—for this outcome. He had hoped that the love that Kíli had for his brother would cause him to grant him mercy and if it hadn’t have, it _was_ a just punishment and Thorin would have allowed Kíli to carry it out.

“I will abide by his wishes,” Thorin said quietly. “If your brother feels that we should grant you clemency I will do so. You have escaped the punishment that I set out for you however I hope that the lesson has been driven home. I hope that you have learned that there are things that even a prince cannot do to another without fear of retribution.”

“I have, Uncle,” Fíli said, his voice sincere. “I will never do anything like this again. I will never raise a knife to any of our kin again save in self-defense.”

“Release him,” Thorin ordered. “And return his weapons to him. I’ll take him at his word.”

“You will not escape punishment a second time if you break it,” Thorin threatened darkly.

“I understand,” Fíli replied quietly, his head bowed. Thorin nodded and turned to leave. “Uncle,” Fíli’s quiet voice called him back and he looked over his shoulder to see Fíli looking at him with tears in his eyes. “Do you hate me now? Because of what I did? Because I hurt Kíli?”

Thorin knew that as a King who had just punished a subject he should walk away but as an Uncle who had just punished a nephew he couldn’t do it. He had given too many choices that evening to what he should do as a King and knew that the uncle had to win out this time. So instead of leaving, he walked to Fíli and pulled his nephew into a tight embrace.

“I could _never_ hate you,” he breathed in Fíli’s ear. “I love you too much for that. You and your brother, you are both so dear to me. So precious. If anything happened to either of you I don’t know what I would do. I’m disappointed but I could _never_ hate you.” Fíli’s only reply was a strangled sob before he started crying again in earnest and clinging to his uncle. His knees gave out in the power of his relief, both at not having his beard shaved off and that Thorin did not hate him, and he pulled them both to the ground with a force that caused Thorin to wince as it jarred his wounds but he said nothing and held his distraught nephew as Fíli wept.

Occasionally there were words mingled with the sobs, broken pieces of Khuzdul and the common tongue that were nearly indecipherable for the pain they contained. But Thorin didn’t ask him for clarification, only allowed him to let it out. This wasn’t the time for explanations; it was a time for release. Eventually his sobs subsided and his grip slackened. Thorin released him thinking that Fíli was finished, only to realize that he was asleep, his blonde head lolling on Thorin’s chest.

Thorin smiled gently at him for a moment before he realized that this presented a problem. There was no way that he could move Fíli even to lay him down so that he could stand to fetch his bedding: Fíli’s dead weight would be too much for his wounded shoulders to handle. He was trying to think of a solution to the problem when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Dwalin smiling gently down at them.

“Let me have the lad, Thorin,” the warrior offered. Some of his anger at his king evaporating since Thorin’s gamble had worked. But not all. Thorin had played a dangerous game and only sheer luck had save Fíli from further trauma. And his salvation may have come at the expense of his brother.

“I’ll take care of him,” Dwalin said with a nod to the blonde dwarf asleep on Thorin. “You go see to the other one. Fíli won’t miss you until dawn. He won’t wake ‘til then. And I think that Kíli needs you. He was rather upset by your . . . it bothered him.”

“I know that it did,” Thorin sighed. “I just . . . there was nothing else that I could do, Dwalin. Fíli . . . I _couldn’t_ ignore what he had done. I wish that this had never needed to happen. I just . . . I can’t do it. I’m _tired_. Dwalin, I have never been so tired in my entire life. Not even when . . . I _know_ that I need to go find Kíli but . . . I _can’t._ I can’t do it. My body . . . I _can’t._ ”

“I understand,” Dwalin replied looking at his weary king sadly. “I understand that you are exhausted. Durin’s beard, Thorin, I don’t know how you are still on your feet at all. You should never have traveled today. You _should_ have spent it resting after the injuries that you sustained. But . . . you can’t leave this until tomorrow. Look what just a few hours to stew did to Fíli. We _can’t_ have them both broken, Thorin. One of them has to stay whole or we will stand no chance of fixing this at all. Fíli is already broken. You _need_ to talk to Kíli before he follows Fíli.” Thorin nodded sadly. Dwalin was right. He _had_ to talk to Kíli. As Dwalin took Fíli from his arms and turned to go Thorin stopped him.

“Dwalin,” Thorin said sadly. “I know that I have already asked too much of you today but . . . don’t leave him alone, please. I would stay with him if I could. I would prefer to stay with him. Just . . . don’t let him wake up alone. Please.”

“He won’t leave my side, Thorin,” Dwalin promised with a small smile. “I hadn’t intended to let him even before you asked. Poor lad doesn’t need to wake to nightmares with no one there to comfort him. When you’ve finished with Kíli, I will let you take my place. Unless you bed down with the little one. I doubt that he will share bedding with his brother for quite some time.”

“Thank you,” Thorin whispered. Once Dwalin had truly left, Thorin remained where he was for a time trying to will his body into doing as he wanted just one more time. He knew that he needed to stand and go to search for Kíli, but he had told Dwalin the truth. The abuses that he had been put through had finally worn him down. He had been still for too long while Fíli cried. The wounded muscles that had answered his call as long as they remained warm had cooled and stiffened and now any movement caused unbearable pain. It didn’t matter that he wanted to go and fix things with Kíli. He knew now that he was not going anywhere until dawn. And perhaps not even then. There was no way that he could find Kíli that night, But luckily, or unluckily, for him he did not have to search for his nephew. Kíli found him.

When he walked up, Thorin offered him a small smile. “Ah, Kíli,” the king said, “I was trying to figure out how I could—“

“I can’t believe you did that, Uncle,” Kíli breathed glaring down at him with tears in his brown eyes and his hands clinched into fists at his sides. “How could you—“

“Kíli, I didn’t,” Thorin replied gently. He understood why Kíli was upset. He believed that he had gone through with the punishment. Thorin could understand why he would believe that he had. The way that Fíli had wept . . . he could see why Kíli would believe that Thorin had shaved Fíli himself.

“I didn’t shave of your brother’s beard,” Thorin said softly. “I honored your request for mercy.”

“I know that,” Kíli snapped. “I may not have watched, but I know. You didn’t have time to have done it before he started crying. And there’s no hair on the ground. That’s not what I meant. How could you do that to _him_? To _me_!?”

“Kíli, I _had_ to do something,” Thorin said tiredly. He didn’t have the energy to fight with Kíli. Not after the day that they had just happened. He had already fought with the Goblin King, Fíli, Balin . . . he couldn’t endure a fight with Kíli as well. Not that night.

“I couldn’t ignore it,” he said, his tone begging Kíli to understand that he had done what he had needed to. Fíli could not go unpunished no matter how much he had wanted to allow him to.

“That’s not what I’m talking about, Uncle!” Kíli yelled, startling a few of the company that had already bedded down for the night and causing them to reach for weapons before they discovered the source of the disturbance. “Did you not think about how _we_ would feel about it? Do you not realize what you _did?_ It was Goblin Town all over again, Uncle. You put a knife in my hand and . . . he was _restrained_ and you wanted me to do something that would hurt him. How . . . how . . .” As Kíli spoke Thorin felt his eyes go wide. He hadn’t realized that his nephews would see it that way. He hadn’t realized that he was placing them in the same positions yet again. He had done it that way because it was tradition. The victim was the only one who was allowed to shave of the attacker’s beard. That was just the way it was. He hadn’t . . . he hadn’t meant to recreate the cause of all the troubles between them.

“Kíli,” he breathed. “I’m sorry. I . . . I didn’t . . . it never occurred to me what I was forcing the two of you to relive. I just went with tradition. I am _so_ sorry. If I would have realized I would never have—“

“But you did,” Kíli said in a small betrayed voice. The pain in his eyes broke Thorin’s heart. He had seen that look directed at him before from eyes that were the same color long ago. It was the same look that Frerin had worn just before he ran from the tent the last time. Kíli hated him. He felt like his heart was being rent from his chest. First Frerin, then Fíli and now Kíli. He tried to think of something to say. Anything that would gain his nephew’s forgiveness, but before he could Kíli was leaving.

 With a disgusted shake of his head, Kíli turned and walked into the darkness. His movements stilted as his own cooling muscles protested being used. Thorin sat there, watching Kíli’s retreating form until he could see it no more. The only thought in his mind was that he was worthless. He had been unable to keep either of his nephews safe in the cave. They had both been damaged under his care and now no matter what he did to try to repair it, he was wrong. It seemed that his nephews were on a balance that was out of whack. No matter how he slid it, how he tried to make it equalize and balance once more, the closer one of them came to returning to normal the further it drove the other one into despair. He was beginning to wonder if they would have better luck at fixing this if he was just to stay out of it.  As tempting as it was, that was not an option. They both still needed him. The way both Fíli and Kíli had clung to him had proved that. He would not abandon them to face this alone. He couldn’t. He couldn’t live with himself if he failed any more members of his family.

With a miserable groan he lay down on his back. Laying on the marks the Goblin had cut into his flesh ached but he could see no other option. Generally he preferred to sleep on his side, but that was out of the question. His shoulders would never tolerate it. Nor would the deeper wounds on his front. That left his back. As much as it hurt to put pressure on both the words and his burn, it was better than the alternative. He would have preferred to sleep against the tree he had been against earlier but could see no way to get there. He couldn’t even get up to get a blanket, let alone to move back to the tree.

He moaned, trying to find even a semi-comfortable position. He wanted to sob but his pride would not allow it. Not over his own pain. However he _did_ sob when he heard his name again. What could Balin want from him now? Couldn’t they all just let him have a moment’s rest? He opened an eye wearily and looked up at his friend looking down on him with sadness in his dark eyes.

“What do you want, Balin?” Thorin asked exasperatedly. “If it to yell at me about how I chose to punish Fíli please do not bother. Your brother and Kíli have already done it for you and I have no desire to hear it again. All I want to do is sleep. I think that I have more than earned it, don’t you?”

“Thorin,” Balin sighed before kneeling down beside his king. “Do you truly intend to sleep right there, just like that? No blanket, no bedroll, nothing to use as a pillow?”

“I-“ Thorin began before he cut himself off in shame. How could he tell Balin that he couldn’t force himself to move even enough to make himself comfortable.

“You can’t get up, can you?” Balin asked. Even if Thorin didn’t answer, the way that he looked away answered the question for him. “You know, for such an old dwarf you are occasionally exceptionally dense. There is nothing wrong with needing help, Thorin. Do you truly want to sleep there or would you prefer to sleep somewhere else?”

“You’ve done too much for me today already,” the king replied uncomfortably. “I could never ask you—“

“You didn’t ask,” Balin said firmly. “I offered. Now, do you want to sleep there or would you prefer to sleep somewhere else?”

“I would prefer to sleep against a tree,” Thorin replied with a sigh and a wistful glance at the nearest one. “It is more comfortable and I can breathe easier but—“

“Dori,” Balin called suddenly, waiting until the other dwarf looked up before nodding towards Thorin with his head. Dori smiled sadly and stood before coming over to Balin and Thorin. “Would you be willing to help me help Thorin get to a tree so that he can sleep comfortably?”

“Of course I would,” Dori replied kneeling on the other side of Thorin from Balin. “Are we carrying him or—“

“I can walk,” Thorin cut in not truly appreciating the way that they were talking about him as if he was not there. “Just help me to my feet, please.” It turned out that Thorin was wrong. He couldn’t walk on his own, not even once they managed to get him to his feet. Thorin tried, but it was mostly through the efforts of Balin and Dori that he eventually made it to a tree before collapsing once more. He was unconscious nearly before he hit the ground. He did not even notice when Balin gently tucked a blanket around him before dragging his own bedding near and seeking his own much needed rest.

**ooOO88OOoo**

After Kíli left his uncle he went in search of companionship. Normally he would have looked to Fíli or his uncle for comfort but he wasn’t sure that Fíli would want him around and it was his uncle that he was angry with. So rather than seeking solace in family, he turned to Bofur and Bilbo. He found them bedded down for the night near Bombur and Bifur, though they were sitting up on their bedding and talking rather that sleeping as the other two were.

“I still don’t quite understand,” Bilbo was saying, his tone edging towards exasperation. “I _know_ that you dwarves are ridiculously attached to you beards but . . . I don’t see how shaving off Fíli’s beard compares to him cutting Kíli deeply enough to leave a scar.”

“It just does,” Bofur argued exasperation in his words as well. It was clear to Kíli that they had been at this for some time. “You don’t understand what beards mean to us. They . . . our _identities_ are in them. That’s why none of us have the same beard. Not to say that we _can’t,_ but a beard is a mark of individuality and pride. And dwarf measures his self-worth by his beard. The thicker and longer it is the prouder he feels of himself. For Thorin to order Kíli to shave Fíli’s beard . . . I’ve never even _heard_ of it happening before. True, most of us will say that someone will have our beard but it is just an expression, really. We don’t actually _believe_ that it will happen.”

“So Thorin was going to allow Kíli to take what makes Fíli _Fíli_ ,” Bilbo asked, the shock suddenly making sense now that he had finally goaded Bofur into explaining him what had happened. “But that’s horrible! I understand that what Fíli did was terrible, but . . . that seems a bit extreme. It has been a dreadful day for us all, after all, and everyone’s tempers are a bit short. True, none of the rest of us drew weapons but . . . How could Thorin order such a thing against his own nephew? It seems cruel.”

“That’s why I didn’t do it,” Kíli said quietly as he sat beside Bilbo who flinched at Kíli’s sudden appearance in the middle of the discussion on his family. “I couldn’t do that to him. Not over this.”

“Besides,” he continued, forcing his tone to brighten in an attempt to lighten the mood, “I think the scar will help. Female dwarves love battle scars. They never have to know that it was given to me in a fight with my brother. By the time it matters I will have come up with a heroic story as to how I received it.”

“You’d better,” Bofur said with a humorless laugh. “If not we may get to actually see someone carry out the punishment that you refused to do. Your mother will shave Thorin’s beard with her fingernails if she ever finds out what the two of you have been up to.” Kíli shivered at the thought of his mother _ever_ discovering what had happened between him and Fíli that day. From what he had said to his brother to what his brother had done . . . she would skin them both alive.

“Can we not talk about that?” Kíli asked in a small voice. “I’m already going to have nightmares about what happened today. The last thing that I need is to have my enraged mother thrown into them as well.”

“I think we all will, Lad,” Bofur replied with a sad smile. “Today wasn’t easy for any of us. I’m just glad that it’s finally over and I can catch a few hours of shut eye. I think that I’m going to turn in. Good night you two.”

“Good night, Bofur,” Bilbo replied absently as he thought over what he had just learned and seen. Bofur was right, Kíli wasn’t going to be the only one with nightmares. “I think that Bofur has the right idea for once,” Bilbo said with a small smile for Kíli. He ignored Bofur’s indignant “OY!” and instead continued his sentence, “I think that I will turn in as well. It has been a _very_ long day. Good night, Kíli.”

Kíli stood to allow Bilbo to lie down but didn’t leave. Instead he stood there awkwardly wondering how to ask for what it was that he wanted. Finally he decided that the only way to do it was to do it.

“Um,” Kíli began awkwardly, shifting his feet nervously when they both opened an eye to look up at him, “do the two of you mind if I sleep here tonight? I know that I never have before but . . . Uncle and I had a fight and Fíli . . . well.” He gestured vaguely at his face. “I don’t think that he would welcome me. And I . . . I’ve never slept alone before. So can I?” Rather than reply verbally, both Bofur and Bilbo scooted over to make room between them for the youngest heir of Durin. Kíli smiled gratefully and moved to gather his bedding and place it between them.

He had only a small amount of discomfort as he tried to lay down to sleep. The wounds on his back caused him little problem as he had always slept on his stomach, but where Fíli had cut his face . . . he always slept on the right side of it and that night he couldn’t. It also didn’t help that while Bilbo and Bofur were warm, neither of them was Fíli. Their snores were unfamiliar to him and only made him miss his brother all the more. Eventually, exhaustion overcame his discomfort and sleep found him as well. His last thought before unconsciousness claimed him was that he hoped that tomorrow would go better than that day had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we are all. One day done. Yes, fifteen chapters in and that was just one day :/ Poor things have really been put through the wringer. I hope that this chapter at least made it a bit better. I’m not sure if I am pleased with this one. What do you think?


	16. Twitchy Sleepers and Nightmares

Dwalin felt that he had only just gotten to sleep when he was awakened once more. It took him a moment to figure out what had woken him. The camp seemed to be silent and there was no sign of an attack, but then it came again. A quiet, plaintive moan from beside him followed by the words “no, please.” Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he looked carefully at the young dwarf sleeping beside him. Even though he was clearly asleep, Fíli’s face was wet with tears. Small, pitiful sounds were coming from his throat as he writhed in the throes of the nightmare.

“No,” he mumbled again. “Please . . . can’t . . . Uncle.” The last word was a sob itself and Dwalin knew which of the traumatic things the poor lad had been through that day was haunting his dreams. He was in the thrice damned cave again. As much as he knew that Fíli needed his sleep, he knew that dreaming of _that_ would not help him.

With a deep sigh the warrior reached out to wake the young heir. Rather than wake outright, Fíli flinched away from his touch, his hands coming up as if to ward off a blow while his lips uttered pleas for mercy. It broke his heart to see it. For Fíli to _beg_ . . . it was too much for him and he grasped the lad’s shoulder a little more forcefully than he had meant to and gave him a firm shake. Fíli’s eyes flew open at the touch, panic filling the blue depths before he managed to find the ability to focus and recognized who had touched him.

“Dwalin,” Fíli said, his breathing ragged in the aftermath of his nightmare, “I . . . I’m sorry that I woke you. I—“ He couldn’t finish his apology as his face crumpled once more and he began to sob. Fíli felt shame flood his veins. Dwalin had always been so kind to him—even after what he had done to his uncle and brother—and here he was bawling like a dwarfling over a nightmare. Rather than stop his tears the idea that he might lose what respect Dwalin had for him only caused them to flow more freely.

“I . . . I’m sorry,” he managed to say between sobs. “I know that I—“ His words were cut off as the larger dwarf wrapped an arm around him and pulled him into a one-armed embrace, his fingers tangling in Fíli’s hair.

“Hush, lad,” Dwalin breathed. “You needn’t apologize for a nightmare. We’ve all had them and most of us never experience the trauma that you did yesterday. But I _swear_ to you, it will be fine, Fíli. I know that it doesn’t seem like it now but it will be.” Fíli made a noise of disbelief but before he could argue against him, Dwalin began speaking again.

“I _know_ that what you did will haunt you,” the warrior continued. “What the Goblin forced you to do . . . it was . . . but you managed it. You did honor to the line of Durin today, lad. You did well, Fíli.”

“Uncle doesn’t see it that way,” Fíli sobbed. “You heard him. He said I dishonored my line. And he was right. What I did to Kíli . . . I’m not worthy of my place in the line of Durin, as Uncle’s heir. Uncle would never have done anything like that.” Dwalin didn’t tell him that he disagreed with him about his uncle but decided to take another tactic.

“And Kíli would be a better choice?” Dwalin asked seriously. Fíli said nothing, but his sobs continued. When Dwalin next spoke his voice was far gentler than any Fíli had ever heard from him before.

“Lad,” the warrior said, “I’m not saying that I condone what you did to your brother but . . . I can see why you did it. What Kíli said to you . . . it was beyond vile.” Dwalin paused to sigh. “I understand that he was in pain and upset, but . . . he should _never_ have said that to you. You did nothing wrong, Fíli. Not in the caves. Honestly, I do _not_ blame you for being angry at him. I don’t know what he said to you in the clearing, but he did admit that he provoked you when you were already upset.”

“And I attacked him,” Fíli whispered. “Like a child or an animal, not a prince of Durin. I should have been able to control myself. Uncle was right. I behaved like a dwarfling. If I’m going to behave like one I should look like one. He _should_ have shaved my beard off despite what Kíli said.”

“I will agree with you,” Dwalin replied. “That was not princely behavior but . . . I disagree with how Thorin handled it. He needed to address it but . . .” Dwalin trailed off as he remembered who he was talking to. He knew that he should not criticize Thorin’s decisions on how he punishes he nephews to his nephew. Even so, he couldn’t leave it the way that he had. Fíli needed to hear what he had to say.

“I think that he was too harsh with you,” Dwalin finished. “You . . . you made a mistake, lad. There’s no doubt about that. But . . . threatening to shave off your beard for it . . . But enough of this. It is time for sleep. Things will look better in the morning, you’ll see.” The warrior stroked the young dwarf’s golden hair in slow soothing motions while he hummed the lullaby that his mother had always hummed for him when he was a dwarfling and Fíli’s breathing eventually began to even out once more. Dwalin had just begun to drift off once more himself when he heard his name whispered in a small voice.

“Dwalin?” Fíli asked. The warrior grunted to show that he had heard and was listening. “What do I do tomorrow? I don’t . . . what do I do?”

“You live,” Dwalin replied with a shrug. “There’s nothing else you can do. You apologize for what you can and then just live. One day at a time. One minute at a time if that’s what it takes. That’s all.” He felt Fíli nod against him.

“Thank you,” the heir whispered.

“Sleep,” was Dwalin’s only reply. And Fíli tried to comply. His nightmare returned twice more that night and each time the older warrior was there with soothing words and hummed lullabies to quiet his tears. After the third time, exhaustion finally caught up with him and he fell into a dreamless sleep that lasted well past dawn.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Across the camp Kíli was fairing little better. Bilbo sighed in frustration as Kíli twitched against him and woke him yet again. The first time that it had happened, Bilbo had been sympathetic. He had assumed that it was a nightmare and had sat up preparing to comfort the dwarf but Kíli had not been crying out and his face was peaceful in sleep. He had just been twitching.

Eventually Kíli had stilled and Bilbo had laid back down believing it to be over. It wasn’t. Just as he was nearly asleep once more, Kíli twitched again. This time it was his arm, which twitched with enough force to nearly knock the breath from Bilbo while Kíli let out a little plaintive sleep noise. Bilbo rolled over to look at him once more, surprised yet again to see that his face showed no signs of distress. With a long-suffering sigh Bilbo realized that Kíli was just a sleep-twitcher. And that he had agreed to allow him to sleep next to him indefinitely. _So much for a good night’s rest_ , Bilbo thought bitterly.

“Woke you up too, did he?” Bofur asked sitting up slightly to look at Bilbo over Kíli’s still-sleeping form.

“I know he can’t help it,” Bilbo began. “And I know that it is wrong of me to be frustrated with him for it but . . .”

“But you’re beginning to wonder if Thorin picked a fight with Kíli so that he could get a good night’s sleep just like I am?” Bofur added with a smirk. “Not that I blame him. If I was as wounded as he is the last thing I would want is someone who twitches as much a Kíli apparently does sleeping next to me. I wonder how Fíli has managed to sleep next to him for seventy-seven years.”

“We should ask,” Bilbo sighed. “There _has_ to be a way to get him to stop it. We’re stuck with him, you know. He’s already said that he won’t sleep alone and I’m willing to bet everyone else will turn him down,” Bilbo said with a bitter laugh. “We _had_ to be the only ones that didn’t know about this.”

“Either that or we could just get him and Fíli to make up,” Bofur offered with a shake of his head. “Kill two birds with one stone as the saying goes. Fix their relationship _and_ make Kíli’s twitching someone else’s problem.”

“I’d rather lose sleep than get involved in _that_ mess,” Bilbo replied sadly. He glanced at Kíli, who seemed to be sleeping peacefully once more, and laid back down. “It looks like he’s done. Good night, Bofur.”

“I hope you’re right,” Bilbo heard the miner mutter as he disappeared behind Kíli again. Bilbo knew that if he truly wanted to, he could just move his bedding away from Kíli’s and be free of his twitching but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not only did it feel wrong to the hobbit to abandon Kíli after he had agreed to allow him to sleep next to him, but the night was a cool one and, despite the twitching, Kíli was warm. Bilbo would endure being woken occasionally if it ensured that the sleep he did get was comfortable.

**ooOO88OOoo**

The next time that Kíli woke him he was feeling much less amicable. That time it had been Kíli’s elbow that had hit him right between the shoulder blades and he rolled over with an exasperated huff to glare at the young dwarf who was murmuring in his sleep behind him.

“Blast it all, Kíli,” Bilbo was muttering as he rolled. “I don’t really care if you twitch but keep your sharp elbows to . . . yourself.” His anger evaporated instantly as he took in the sight of the tears on Kíli’s cheeks and the pained expression on his face even though he was still asleep. He was desperately muttering words, but they were in Khuzdul and Bilbo didn’t know what Kíli was saying. However one thing was clear; he was distressed.

Bilbo went to tap his cheek to wake him only to stop when the stitched wound reminded him that Kíli would probably not appreciate that. Instead, he grabbed the young dwarf’s hand in one of his own and tapped the back of it smartly with the other. With a moan of protest Kíli tried to pull the hand away from him, but he held it tightly.

“Come on,” Bilbo hissed. “Wake up.” He tapped the hand he held again, but rather than wake Kíli suddenly was on top of him, his eyes still closed. The young dwarf had grabbed the hand that had held his and had it pinned above Bilbo’s head as he sat on his chest.

“Kíli!” Bilbo squeaked. “Kíli, I can’t breathe.” At his name the dwarf opened his eyes but they were blank. It was clear that whatever he was seeing it wasn’t the startled hobbit underneath him. His face showed panic and he frantic Khuzdul words were still falling from his lips. It almost sounded as though he were pleading.

“Kíli,” Bilbo snapped trying once more to wake the dwarf verbally. It didn’t work. Kíli said something to him, clearly demanding an answer and gave Bilbo a firm shake with his free hand when he didn’t receive it before repeating his words.

“I can’t understand you,” Bilbo pleaded. “I can’t answer questions that I don’t understand.” But Kíli was lost to his mind and didn’t seem to understand Bilbo’s words because the third repetition of his question had such pain and anger behind it that Bilbo knew that he would have to resort to more desperate measures to wake the dwarf before Kíli could do something that they would both regret. Shame twisted in his gut as he raised his right hand and struck Kíli across the left side of his face. The slap had been hard and Bilbo’s palm stung from it. Even so, Kíli did not wake. Instead his grip on Bilbo’s hand tightened and his fingers dug painfully into the hobbit’s flesh as he leaned in and hissed something else in Khuzdul. Bilbo realized that Kíli wasn’t going to wake and began looking desperately for help.

The others were sleeping, ignorant to the scuffle that was going on beside them. Except for Bofur who was stirring from the sound of the slap. “Bofur!” Bilbo squeaked. “Help me. Please!” The words of the hobbit broke through the last vestiges of sleep clinging to the dwarf and he was there in an instant, trying to pull Kíli from Bilbo.

 _“No,”_ Kíli snarled at him in Khuzdul. “ _I need him to explain to me why he did it.”_

 _“Kíli_ ,” Bofur replied in the same language, trying to ignore Bilbo’s frantic eyes as he tried in vain to understand what was being said, _“He did nothing to you. Let him go.”_

 _“No,”_ the young heir argued. “ _He needs to tell me. He keeps talking and I cannot understand him. I need to know.”_

 _“I can tell you, if you just let him go,”_ Bofur tried, he knew now that Kíli was asleep and the part of his brain that was on wasn’t the part that understood the common tongue. He would have just told Bilbo to play into the fantasy and apologize but he couldn’t do that if Kíli couldn’t understand. That would not diffuse this situation.

“ _No! I need to hear it from him_ ,” Kíli snapped. “ ** _He_** _needs to answer me_.”

“What’s he saying?” Bilbo asked suddenly when he saw Bofur’s shoulders droop. “What does he want from me?”

“He wants you to explain why you did it,” Bofur said with a sigh. “And he wants you to do it in Khuzdul. He . . . he can’t seem to understand the common tongue.”

“Why I did what?” Bilbo demanded. “Slap him? I was trying to wake him up!”

 _“Tell him to speak so that I can understand him,”_ Kíli demanded suddenly. Bilbo cried out as Kíli’s grip on his hand tightened once more. Bofur flinched at the hopelessness in Bilbo’s eyes as he stared up at him wordlessly begging him to do something. Bofur knew then what he had to do.

“Bilbo,” Bofur said warily. “I need you to repeat after me. I think he thinks that you are Fíli. I know that the words will be difficult but this may be the only way to end this. Are you ready?” Bilbo nodded and Bofur began feeding him words in Khuzdul, feeling like he was betraying his people but seeing no way to do differently. Kíli would not wake and he seemed to be escalating. More than enough blood had been shed that day and if Bilbo uttering a few words in Khuzdul would prevent more, so be it. Bilbo repeated his words, stumbling over them but managed to get out the apology.

At his words Kíli calmed and embraced him, before laying down beside Bilbo and snuggling into his shoulder and drifting back off into true sleep with a contented sigh.

“Wha-what did I say?” Bilbo breathed, more than shocked by the sudden change that had come over the dark-headed dwarf despite the lack of emotion and inflection that had been in the words that Bilbo had spoken but not understood.

“You told him that you were sorry. That you had wronged him deeply and that it was your greatest regret,” Bofur explained.

“And the last bit,” Bilbo prodded. “The thing I said that made him hug me?”

“Ah . . . “ Bofur said uncomfortably. “I . . . I should have warned you before I had you say that. I knew that he might hug you after you did. You told him that you would always love him.” At Bilbo’s shocked expression Bofur felt that he needed to explain further. “He thought that you were Fíli. I thought that it would help. Odds are that he won’t even remember this tomorrow.”

“I don’t care if he does,” Bilbo replied moving Kíli’s arm that was across his chest a little further down so that it wasn’t putting undue weight on his ribcage so that he could breathe more easily. “Maybe it will make him laugh. I’m sure that I was quite a sight! I never thought that this would happen. A hobbit, pinned under a dwarf and apologizing to him in Khuzdul for something he never even did. Tell me, how much did I mangle your language?”

“More than a bit,” Bofur replied with a sheepish grin. “I hope that he doesn’t remember. Even if it will make him laugh I’m not sure that I want anyone to know that I was . . . Khuzdul _is_ a secret, you know.”

“I remember,” Bilbo said with a small smile as he tried to wiggle back out from under Kíli only to have the dwarf protest and hold him more tightly. “Now that this is over . . . would you mind terribly if . . .” Bilbo eyed his blanket and pillow with longing and Bofur laughed before bringing both of them to the trapped hobbit. He tossed the blanket over the two of them and gave Bilbo back his pillow before dragging his own bedding beside them.

“I hope this is the last time I speak with you until after dawn, Bilbo,” Bofur yawned as he laid back down. Bilbo’s only reply was a quiet snore. He was already asleep. Bofur soon followed him. Kíli was finally laying still and neither of them woke again until they were roused after dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, all. Here’s a new one for you :) I hope that you enjoyed it! And I have an ANNOUNCMENT!!! Due to popular request there is now a spin-off story of this one with the kiddos as kiddos and a bit of backstory for this one. I was thinking through the backstory and thought “what the heck! I’ll just write it.” So for those of you that asked, there is now more Durin Family goodness from me :) the title is Scenes of Trust and is up now. I hope that you enjoy it!


	17. The Morning After, Calm Discussions and Bitter Revelations

Fíli awoke slowly. When he moved it, his head felt heavy and there was a tightness of the skin on his face that reminded him of his tears the night before. At the reminder, shame flooded his veins. His weakness embarrassed him. He hadn’t cried in _decades_ before yesterday and had done it in private for longer than that but yesterday . . . not only had he wept in front of the entire company and his uncle—Oh Mahal! His uncle had held him and comforted him like a babe and they had all seen that as well. As if his uncle needed _another_ reason to prefer his brother to him. There was no way that Thorin hadn’t been embarrassed by his display. He had to be ashamed that Fíli shared his blood. True dwarves did not weep in public.

With a groan at the fact that he had made things worse yet again, Fíli moved to rise only to be stopped by a heavy arm that was across his chest. When he tried to turn his head he realized that there were also fingers buried in his hair. For half a moment his heart soared before it crashed to the ground. His first thought had been that his uncle was still there, offering him comfort. The last clear thing that he remembered was falling asleep in Thorin’s arms as he wept.

Logic soon destroyed that hope. Whoever was holding him was lying on his side. His uncle was incapable of that at the moment. His injuries would not have permitted it. Right on the tail of that realization came a memory: one of Dwalin holding him when he woke from the nightmares of what he had done to his uncle and brother and stroking his hair while whispering soothing things—his normally gruff manner disappearing entirely. His shame at his actions hit him so hard that it left him panting. _Dwalin_ had seen him weep over _nightmares_ and had _comforted_ him. Next to his uncle, Dwalin’s was the other member of the company whose opinion he cared the most for—with the exception of Kíli—and in one weak night he had lost any respect that either of them might ever have had for him.

Immediately after the shame came hurt and anger. While he was grateful that Dwalin had stepped in and been there for him so that the nightmares did not eat him alive, he was angry with his uncle for putting him in the position where he would lose Dwalin’s respect as well. He was hurt that Thorin had not stayed with him himself. Especially since he _knew_ that once he got up he would find Kíli next to their uncle. He _knew_ it. Once more his uncle had chosen Kíli over him. At his first opportunity Thorin had passed him off to see to Kíli. Not that he should have expected anything else. Not after what he had done. He felt his anger drain from him with the last thought and suddenly he was too tired to care about his uncle’s blatant favoritism.

He knew that he could not compete with Kíli for their uncle’s affections. He never had been able to. Even when Kíli had chosen to specialize in archery—which, while an admirable and useful skill, was _not_ a traditional main weapon for the line of Durin—while Fíli had chosen to focus more on swords, daggers and axes like Thorin had, their uncle had still praised Kíli for his skill and daring while only critiquing Fíli’s faults. Or like when Kíli took to climbing trees: their uncle had only laughed at his antics though only years before he had scolded Fíli for doing the same.

When he had spoken to his mother about it, she had just told him that the differences were because he was Thorin’s heir. She had said that her brother had higher standards for him than he did for Kíli for the same reason and that her father had been the same when it came to Thorin and her and their brother. Thorin was held to higher standards, Thráin had expected more from him.

_“That is just the way of these things, my darling,” she had said with a sad smile. “Thorin . . . he loves you and your brother equally. He only treats you differently because he is trying to prepare you for the burden you will someday be forced to carry. A burden that will never be Kíli’s just as it would never have been mine.”_

_“What if I don’t want to carry it, Mother?” Fíli had asked. She smiled gently at him and placed her hands on either side of his face so that she could look into his eyes._

_“I am afraid that you have no choice in the matter, Fíli,” she had replied placing a gentle kiss on his brow. “You are the eldest child of the next generation of the line of Durin. One day you will be king. All that Thorin and I can do is prepare you to take up the mantle when the time comes. If he ever seems too cold or distant . . . bear in mind that he **does** love you, my darling son. Your uncle loves you more than he loves life itself and he is only doing what he believes he must to make you a good king.” _

He hadn’t had the heart to tell her that she was wrong. Even then he knew that while Thorin loved him, he did not care for him as he did Kíli. He may be Thorin’s heir but Kíli was his favorite. He had never even been in the running for the position of favorite. There had been no competition. Kíli had always held it. Their uncle had _always_ been warmer and quicker to smile when it came to Kíli than he was with Fíli. And his actions the day before . . . well, he was lucky that his uncle still allowed him to remain with the group. He stood no chance of ever competing with Kíli for a place in his uncle’s heart after that.

A small, sick, bitter part of him wondered what would have happened in the caves had their positions been reversed. Would their uncle still have been so encouraging if it had been Fíli’s life on the line and Kíli’s soul? Would he have sacrificed Kíli’s sanity and his own body to save Fíli’s life? Fíli wasn’t sure of the answer. After all, Kíli _was_ the favorite and if Fíli _had_ died Kíli could have become Thorin’s heir. Their uncle wasn’t _that_ old. There was still time to groom Kíli into a worthy heir and a good king. Fíli _knew_ that in his uncle’s eyes he was expendable. To his uncle _he_ was the extra, even if the rest of the world believed it to be Kíli.

That same masochistic part of him was the part that encouraged him to disentangle Dwalin’s fingers from his hair and stand to search for his uncle and brother. The rest of the camp was still asleep, even though dawn had long since come. Only Gandalf was awake, leaning against a tree facing the way they had come and clearly keeping watch. The wizard gave him a small smile and a little nod of his head which Fíli tried to return before he scanned the sleeping company for his family. He was shocked to see Thorin leaning against a tree. Clearly asleep and clearly alone.

He was confused. He had _known_ that Kíli would be beside their uncle. With that in mind, he listened carefully for the sound of movement in the forest around them thinking that his brother must have gotten up to relieve himself and would be coming back soon. But as he looked more closely he could see that Thorin’s blanket was tucked around him and there was no sign that another had slept there. It made no sense. Kíli _had_ to have slept there.

“Kíli was never there last night, if that is what is troubling you,” Gandalf said quietly. “He did not sleep beside your uncle.” Fíli turned to the wizard in shock, more surprised that Gandalf seemed to know what he had been thinking than he was that Kíli had not slept by their uncle.

“How did you—“

“My dear boy,” Gandalf replied with a humorless laugh, “I have walked this earth for far longer than I care to remember most of the time. Even had I not, the look of longing and jealousy on your face was as clear as if you had said it yourself.” Fíli sighed. It would do not good to deny Gandalf’s statement. He was jealous of the favor that Thorin showed Kíli. “It is not Kíli’s fault, you know,” the wizard said gently. “He did not do anything to try to curry your uncle’s favor. And he does love you. I think that if you knew more of Thorin’s past it would—“

“What!?” Fíli snapped turning to face Gandalf. His breath was coming heavily as he fought to control his temper. It would do him no good to attack the wizard. “What? If I knew his past it would what? Absolve him of more than seventy years of favoritism?” Fíli scoffed at the idea. He could think of nothing that could explain it away. “And _I_ _know_ that Kíli is not responsible. Much like with my actions and Kíli’s words, Uncle’s choices were his own. But even if I did not, I fail to see how it is any of _your_ business to advocate for either of them. Is Kíli _your_ favorite as well? Do _you_ favor him enough that you seek to defend slights against me that are not his fault to me? Do you think me so foolish that I am not able to sort out those who have done wrong to me from those who are blameless?”

“My dear dwarf,” Gandalf replied holding his hands up as a sign of peace, “I meant no offence to you or your kin. I was merely trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help,” Fíli muttered before he stalked off towards where he could see his brother’s boot poking out from a pile of dwarves that seemed to include Bofur, Bombur, Bifur and Bilbo in addition to Kíli.

“Despite how little you resemble him, you bear a striking similarity to your uncle in your ability to accept aid when it is freely given,” he heard Gandalf mutter his tone showing that what he had just learned displeased him. Fíli couldn’t care less about having displeased the wizard. He had disappointed everyone else, why should Gandalf be any different? Even so, Gandalf’s words ate at him. Once he would have given anything to hear that he bore a similarity to his uncle but after what had happened . . . he resented it.

His uncle’s stubbornness and foolishness had been what had driven the wedge between him and Kíli. It was one thing for him to prefer Kíli to Fíli—Fíli had endured that for years without protest—but to put them into an unnecessary situation that caused Fíli to break and Kíli to say such cruel things . . . that was something that Fíli wasn’t sure if he could forgive. If his uncle would have just given up even a _bit_ of his pride they could have all been spared the heartbreak that had followed. Gandalf’s words made him wonder if he was capable of such foolishness. Could he someday lead to the breaking of his own family?

He felt tears sting his eyes as he looked down at his brother, sleeping peacefully on Bilbo’s shoulder and clinging to him as he had clung to Fíli for years. His face was smooth in sleep, all the lines that had been there the previous day gone. The only thing marring the smoothness were the dried tear tracks that gave evidence to the fact that he had wept the night before. That and the livid red mark across his cheek.

Fíli dropped to his knees beside his brother as he answered his own question from moments before. Yes. Yes he _could_ lead to the breaking of his own family. His uncle may have made the first fissure but he was the one that had driven the final blow that shattered it. With tears prickling his eyes once more he gently unstuck Kíli’s hair from the wound before tracing a finger along the upper edge of it. He let out a hiss as he saw just how close he had come to taking Kíli’s eye. Not only would that have crippled him but he would not have been able to shoot again. That would have destroyed him and perhaps killed him. With where they were, Kíli would not have been able to get the medical treatment he would need and might have died from infection if enemies didn’t get him first. Crippled warriors were not long for this world.

“I know that it will never be enough,” he whispered placing his forehead against Kíli’s temple and whispering in his hair, “but I swear to you that I regret my actions. Even if I had not already given Uncle my word . . . I _swear_ to you, Kíli, I will _never_ lash out at you like this again. I am so sorry. Please, _please_ , forgive me!” A single tear escaped his eye and landed on Kíli’s cheek, moving down the skin into the wound. Kíli made a small noise of discomfort and reached up as if to bat away a fly. Fíli saw the motion and caught his hand before he could hit the wound and cause himself pain. He didn’t miss the sudden stiffness in Kíli’s shoulders or the way that his eyes widened in panic when he recognized his brother.

His heart broke as Kíli tried to scramble away from him only to stop with a cry of pain as the sudden motion aggravated his wounds. He held his hands up with the palms facing his brother to show that he was unarmed and meant him no harm.

“Kíli, please,” Fíli begged quietly, “Just relax. I . . . I’m not going to hurt you. Not again. _Never_ again. Please, just stop trying to escape. Please.” When Fíli made no move to reach for him or one of his knives the panic began to fade from Kíli’s veins and he realized that it was only his brother that had been above him. It wasn’t the terrifying angry dwarf that had cut his face the day before or that haunted his dreams. It was just Fíli. His Fíli.

“Do you mean that?” Kíli asked quietly staring levelly at his brother. “What you just said?”

“More than I can ever explain to you,” Fíli replied fervently. “I will _never_ raise a blade or a fist to you in anger again, Brother. I . . . I don’t know what possessed me to do it even the once.”

“I do,” Kíli said with a wry smile. “Yesterday was . . . I don’t know any words vile enough to describe it . . . I may have to ask Dwalin for one later—I’ll bet _he_ knows one. Anyway . . . I . . . you . . . _we_ weren’t . . . I don’t know about you, Fee but I wasn’t prepared for anything like that.”

“Neither was I,” Fíli admitted. “I . . . I still can’t believe some of the things I did yesterday.” He shuddered at the memories of Thorin’s cries of pain and Kíli’s shocked face. “To uncle . . . to you.” He reached out to stroke Kíli’s cheek only to have him pull away.

“Please,” Kíli whispered looking at him through his hair, his brown eyes guarded. “I . . . I can’t bear for you to touch me. Not yet. I . . . I need time, Fíli. I am trying. Part of me wants to launch myself at you and embrace you just to prove to myself that you are real and alive and here but . . . what you did yesterday . . .  I’m afraid of you, Brother. And part of me wants to run. I’m sorry.” Fíli looked away and Kíli only kept speaking.

“I know that I am somewhat responsible for this,” he gestured at his cheek though he knew that Fíli could not see it. “I know that I provoked you. What I said last night was true. I was cruel to you. Both in the caves and in the clearing but . . . even so . . . I _never_ believed that you would . . . no _could_ draw my blood.” There was a long pause. Neither brother knowing what to say to that. Fíli wanted to apologize yet again for his actions but knew that it would do no good and Kíli . . . he felt confused.

“How did we get here, Fíli?” Kíli whispered. Fíli glanced at him and saw sadness beyond his years in his brother’s brown eyes. “I mean . . . I know how we got _here_ but I mean, what happened between us that would even allow us to get to this point? How did you get so angry so quickly? What happened?”

“I don’t know, Kíli,” Fíli lied. He knew that what had happened yesterday was years of anger and resentment boiling to the surface but how could he explain that to Kíli? How could he explain that he had allowed years of pain to fester until it had infected his soul and enabled him to lash out at the one being on this earth that loved him the most dearly? He didn’t see how he could so he lied.

“I don’t know,” he repeated as if by repetition he could make it true. He reached out to his brother, intending to draw him into a hug only to have Kíli flinch away from him once more. “Do you . . . do you ever think that things . . . that _we_ can go back to how things were, you know . . . before?” he asked hesitantly. He knew that there were some things that could never go back to how they were but he hoped that his relationship with his brother was not one of those things. Kíli looked at him for a long moment, his brown eyes unreadable before he sighed and sadness filled them.

“I don’t know,” Kíli replied honestly. “I don’t know if we can ever go back, Fíli. I just . . . I don’t know.” Fíli nodded sadly. He had known that would be the answer he was going to get. Suddenly Kíli laughed, it was a weak sound but was a laugh nonetheless.

“What?” Fíli asked. He saw absolutely nothing humorous about this situation and wondered just what Kíli thought was funny.

“It’s nothing,” Kíli replied, his brow furrowed in concentration. “I had a strange dream is all.”

“Oh?” the blonde brother asked raising an eyebrow and wondering if Kíli would feel inclined to share after their rift.

“Yes,” Kíli replied with a weak parody of his usual smirk in place. “I dreamt that _Bilbo_ was apologizing to me . . . in _Khuzdul_. Or some version of it . . . and then he told me that he loved me and always would.” Despite himself Fíli snorted. _Bilbo_ speaking Khuzdul and declaring his undying love for Kíli. It was ridiculous!

“I told you it was strange!” Kíli defended.

“That is _beyond_ strange, Kíli,” his brother replied, but Kíli never heard it. He was lost in his own thoughts as the rest of the dream floated to the surface.

He grew quiet as he remembered what had come before. He had been floating without a body watching his own actions in the Goblin caves and for the rest of the day. He had been staring at himself, demanding to know why it had happened, why he had done what he did. _Why_ he had hurt his brother as he had. When suddenly he was back in a body, his hand being grabbed and slapped. He had pinned the other him down, demanding answers but even though the mouth had moved what had come out had been gibberish. His waking mind recognized it as Westron: _pleading_ in the common tongue. Then came a slap and, suddenly, it was not himself that was pinned below him. It was his brother.

The question he had for his brother had been the same as the one he had for himself: Why. Again the answer had been gibberish and then there was a third voice: one that he now recognized as Bofur’s. When he had looked away the body below him morphed once more. Now rather than Fíli or himself it was his uncle that was pinned beneath him. He had been filled with the sudden desire to know why his uncle had pushed Fíli the way he had. Why had he not let Kíli do his part to keep them all safe? Fíli was entirely broken to keep him safe and . . . and Kíli knew that it would not have been as bad for his brother if his uncle would have just let him help. He could have borne some of the pain if it would have spared his brother’s soul. Thorin should have allowed him to help.

It had angered him when Thorin responded with more of the gibberish rather than answer his question. It had hurt that his uncle did not even believe that he could handle the truth of his words any more than he could handle the burden of helping to keep them safe. Then, in halting, flawed Khuzdul the response had come. It had been an apology and a declaration of undying familial love and had soothed him. Somewhere in his mind it had registered that the voice was too high to belong to his uncle but he had ignored it and allowed sleep to take him.

His waking mind knew that it was that same undying familial love that had led his uncle to make the choices he had made in the caves but he was still a bit confused by it. Even if he was grateful to have been spared the pain that Thorin was having to deal with . . . his uncle’s actions still made no sense to him. Even taking into account that it had been out of love rather than distrust of his abilities . . . it made no sense to him that his uncle would not only risk his own life but his heir’s sanity to spare one member of the company. Even taking into account his blood line he could make no sense of it.

Their uncle _had_ to have known that death was a possibility for any or all of them and above all else his uncle had always shown himself to be pragmatic. One life was not worth two, no matter who the lives in question were. Thorin had always taught them that when he had trained them to fight. Why would he break his own rule and risk two lives—two _important_ lives at that—for one?

The words that his uncle had spoken the day before that had hurt him so flowed through his mind once more: _“I wanted to. Your mother insisted that I bring you if I wanted to bring Fíli. He had to come, so you had to come as well."_ For the first time it occurred to him that he had taken things the wrong way the day before. What if his uncle had not wanted to leave him because he doubted him but because he favored him and had wanted him to survive? He had just thought that his uncle had to have known that death was a possibility, had that been Thorin’s reason for wanting to leave him at home?

 As he thought back over his childhood and his own interaction with his uncle and the ones that he had witnessed between his uncle and Fíli, he felt certainty flood him like a flood of snowmelt: cold and overwhelming. Thorin favored him over Fíli. He felt numb at the though. He had always thought that the inverse was true but . . . his uncle had sacrificed his brother—his heir—to spare him pain. He needed no more proof than that.

Suddenly the ice in his veins was replaced with the fire of righteous fury for his brother. He wasn’t sure if anyone had ever called his uncle on the wrongs he had done Fíli but Kíli was about to do it. He didn’t care that it wasn’t appropriate or kind . . . his uncle had destroyed his brother in favor of sparing him a bit of pain. He would not let that go unsaid any more than his uncle had been able to allow Fíli’s actions to go unpunished. He wondered if Fíli knew what he had just realized. If he did . . .

With a gasp he glanced at his brother. Fíli raised an eyebrow at the shocked wide eyes that were staring at him. Kíli stared at his brother, seeing the sadness that was in his blue eyes and Kíli knew that he had just realized the truth: Fíli knew. Fíli had always know. That was where the anger had come from.  

“Oh, Fíli,” he breathed. “Why did you never tell me? I don’t know what I could have done but you . . . you _should_ have told me, Fíli.”

“Tell you what?” Fíli asked in confusion. One moment they had been talking about Kíli’s dream and then . . . Kíli was making cryptic statements. “What did I never tell you, Kíli?”

“About Uncle,” Kíli whispered. “I . . . I’m so sorry. I . . . I never knew but,” he paused and his eyes that had been treatning to fill with tears filled with determination and fire instead, “I _will_ talk to him about it, Fíli. What he has done to you . . . it was _wrong_.” With that, Kíli shot to his feet, his pain at the action only feeding into his anger and began stalking towards their uncle, fury radiating from him.

Fíli sat there for a moment trying to figure out what on earth Kíli was talking about when it suddenly dawned on him. Kíli knew. Kíli knew that he was the favorite and he was livid about it. Kíli was livid and was going to confront their uncle. Before his brain could fully process what was happening Fíli was on his feet and chasing after Kíli, hoping to stop him before he could do something unbelievably stupid and confront their uncle. He knew very will just how sharp Kíli’s tongue could be when he was provoked and knew that with the injuries that their uncle had sustained—seeing as they _had_ been for Kíli’s sake—his favorite nephew turning on him might just be enough to break him and while he was angry with Thorin he wasn’t _that_ angry. He _had_ to stop Kíli!


	18. A Promise, Kind Words and Pursuit

“Kíli! Stop! Don’t!” Fíli called trying to catch up to his brother without stepping on any of the dwarves that were still sprawled out in sleep. “Kíli!” With a great leap forward he caught his brother’s wrist and brought him to a stop.

“Let me go, Fíli,” Kíli snapped pulling against his brother’s hold. “I can’t believe that I never saw it before. How long? How long has _he_ treated you this way?”

“Kíli,” the elder sighed looking away from the anger in Kíli’s eyes.

“How long?” the dark-haired brother snarled grabbing Fíli’s chin with the hand that wasn’t being held by Fíli and forcing the blonde to look at him. “Answer me, Fíli.”

“I don’t know,” Fíli replied with a shrug. At Kíli’s incredulous look he scoffed, “I don’t know! I don’t think it was like this in the beginning, even after you were born. Not really.” Fíli’s could feel his forehead crease as he tried to sift through shadowy childhood memories. There were happy memories there, where his uncle smiled at him and laughed with him and played as he did with Kíli. When had it changed? He couldn’t pinpoint the when but he did know that it had. His uncle had become distant towards him even though he was still the same with Kíli as he had always been.

“I don’t know, Kíli,” the blonde sighed. “And it doesn’t matter anyway.”

“It . . . It _doesn’t_ matter!?” Kíli spat incredulously. “How can you say that? It matters, Fíli! He . . .”

“He what, Kíli,” Fíli asked with a sad shake of his head. “Think about it. What are you actually going to say to him? He’s _never_ been cruel to me, Kíli. Not truly. It’s not as if he was beating or starving me while he doted on you. He was just . . .” Fíli’s blue eyes closed as he took a moment to collect himself before he continued.  “He picked you as his favorite. He’s not actually done anything _wrong_ , Kíli. He’s allowed to have a favorite. So what if it’s not me?”

“Fíli . . . I . . .” Kíli trailed off, releasing Fíli’s chin and running a hand through his hair while looking towards their still-sleeping uncle and pulling weakly against Fíli’s hold. “I _have_ to do something. I can’t just . . . I _need_ to talk to him about this. I _can’t_ let him do this to you. If I just point it out maybe—”

“Don’t,” Fíli repeated sadly. “It won’t change anything, Kíli. Just because you tell him that you know that he’s picked a favorite and that you don’t like his choice . . . what good will it do, Brother? He’s in pain enough already. _You_ cannot accuse him of this, Kíli. If you were anyone else . . . I don’t know if you could but . . . not _you_. Not after what happened yesterday.”

Kíli sighed as he heard what his brother was _actually_ saying: ‘You’re his favorite if you turn on him now it will destroy him.’ That was what Fíli had _meant_ to say but couldn’t bring himself to. Kíli felt his anger fade as he realized the truth of his brother’s words. He suddenly felt very tired even though he had just woken up.

Fíli breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the anger fade and Kíli’s brown eyes took on a look of soft sadness. He was glad that Kíli had seen reason. He would not have his uncle broken by his brother for his sake. Thorin _needed_ Kíli just as he needed Fíli even if he didn’t realize it yet.

“Why?” Kíli asked suddenly. Fíli wasn’t sure what it was that his brother wanted to know so he said nothing and waited for Kíli to finish his question. It didn’t take long. “Why did you stop me?” In response Fíli gave a small, mirthless laugh and reached out slowly to trace below the wound on Kíli’s cheek with the side of his thumb. His brother flinched at the touch but didn’t pull away.

“I did it because even after everything that has happened between us, I still love him, Kíli,” Fíli replied with a sad smile, his blue eyes locked with Kíli’s brown. “I don’t want to watch him hurt. Least of all by you. And . . . I don’t know if you know this, Brother, but you didn’t specialize in archery.” Kíli looked at him in confusion, what was Fíli talking about? He knew that he was the best archer in Ered Luin . . . if he hadn’t specialized in that . . .

“Oh, you’re an excellent archer,” Fíli added seeing Kíli’s confusion, “there’s no mistake about that. But that is not your most finely honed weapon.” Fíli’s thumb traced the path of the wound once more and Kíli suddenly understood what his brother was getting at.

“My tongue,” Kíli sighed. “My tongue is my most finely honed weapon. Brother, I—“

“Hush,” Fíli replied. “I don’t want to hear it again, Kíli. I . . . what you said . . . it hurt me that you could think such things of me, Brother. There is no apology that will fix it, just as there is nothing that I can say to make this wound disappear. There will be scars on both sides of this. Please, even once he’s well, do not add to the scars Uncle has to carry for my sake. I know it’s not fair but . . . I can endure this, Kíli. I _have_ endured it. Can you do this for me, Brother? Can you endure it with me?”

“I . . . I can,” Kíli agreed with a sad smile. “If that is what you actually want I will keep my sharp tongue to myself as far as you and Uncle are concerned. If you ever change your mind . . . “

“You will be the first to know, Kíli,” Fíli promised. “If I ever want an advocate you will be the first person I turn to. Deal?”

“Deal,” Kíli agreed. “Now . . . can you _please_ let me go?” For the first time Fíli realized that the hand of the wrist that he held was trembling. In fact, _Kíli_ was trembling and beneath the sadness in his eyes was the hint of fear. Kíli truly did fear him. He released his brother’s wrist and watched as Kíli pulled it against him and wrapped his other hand around it almost as if he was cradling an actual wound.

“Kíli . . . I”

“No,” Kíli cut him off with a wan smile. “No more apologies between us, Fíli. We’ve both heard them, it won’t do any good to keep going back to them. Let’s just . . . we just need to _try_ to . . . we need to give it time.” Fíli just nodded. There was nothing else that needed saying. He knew that Kíli was right. They both needed time. Only now that it was over did he realize just how much he had feared that Kíli’s tongue would be turned on him once more. There was a fine tremor beginning to go through him as the adrenaline faded. For the first time he realized that Kíli wasn’t the only one that feared his brother: Fíli feared Kíli as well. The anger that had been in his eyes . . . Fíli shuddered at the memory.

“Come on,” Fíli said with a nod in the direction their uncle had slept, “we should check on Uncle.” He moved past Kíli and was surprised to see that his Uncle’s eyes were open and he was staring at them with an expression that Fíli could not read. It almost looked like regret. He felt the blood rush from his face as he wondered just how much of their conversation their uncle had overheard.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Thorin drifted painfully into consciousness. For a moment he couldn’t remember what had happened that had caused him to hurt so. For half a moment he smiled as the thought crossed his mind that he would have to talk to Dwalin about _not_ beating him black and blue during sparing sessions—all in jest, of course. What good was sparing if either combatant took it easy on the other?—before the sound of raised voices reached his ears and the events of the day before can rushing back to him. He couldn’t hear the words but he recognized the voices. Fíli and Kíli. His nephews were arguing again.

 _Oh, Mahal **please** let them be just arguing, _ Thorin prayed before he forced his eyes open. He watched as Fíli grabbed Kíli’s wrist and Kíli whirled to face him. He tried to get to his feet, desperate to separate them before it came to blows but it was beyond his abilities. When Fíli turned away and Kíli’s hand shot out, Thorin tried to call out to him to stop, but all that came out was a hoarse croak that did not carry the distance. He was clearing his throat to try again. He knew that if Kíli struck his brother what happened in the clearing might repeat, despite the promise Fíli had given him, but he needn’t have worried because Kíli was merely turning his brother’s face back towards him.

He watched as both of their postures relaxed, going from tense to defeated before Fíli reached out and stroked Kíli’s cheek. He took it as a good sign when Kíli did not pull away. Perhaps he had been right that if he just left them to it they would fix things between them themselves. It looked like they had already made more progress that morning than had been accomplished all day yesterday. He smiled at the sight before him, the first sign that they would be fine.  When Kíli curled protectively around the wrist that his brother had held Thorin felt his smile falter. Even if they _would_ be fine they were not there yet. And it was his fault.

Even though part of him knew that the Great Goblin would have done what he did no matter what had been said, Thorin couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if he would have just done as Fíli suggested and told the Goblin that they were going to see Dáin. Even if he had been punished for the lie . . . would it have saved his nephews? Especially Fíli. Kíli was injured, that was true enough but Fíli . . . his poor, little, golden Fíli. Kíli would heal but Fíli . . . Thorin looked at his eldest nephew as the boys closed the distance between them and felt nothing but regret for what his own insecurities had done to Fíli. How could he ever apologize for what he had done?

After Balin had left him before the debacle with Fíli’s punishment Thorin had thought back over everything that had happened since the boys were born and had realized that Balin was correct: he had been more distant with Fíli than he had with Kíli. He hadn’t meant to be. He hadn’t even realized that he had done it . . . but he had. Kíli had had an uncle: Fíli a king. He still wasn’t sure what he could say to his nephew to explain it but he knew that he had to attempt it. He knew that Fíli knew about the difference but he hoped, selfishly, that Kíli did not.

When they reached his side, Fíli knelt slowly beside him and took one of his hands in his own. “Good morning, Uncle,” Fíli greeted him just as he had ever day for as long as Thorin could remember, though that day there was a pain underneath the words that had never been there before and a forced politeness that broke his heart. “How are you today?”

“Morning, Fíli,” Thorin croaked back, wincing at the feel of air moving through his ravaged throat. Despite what he had intended he would not be able to explain his mistakes to Fíli that day. “I,” he paused to swallow, his dry mouth doing nothing to lubricate his dry throat.

“Hold on,” Fíli said gently, patting his hand before releasing it and standing to go towards the packs were he retrieved Thorin’s waterskin. He returned and settled back into his place his face twisting in frustration when he couldn’t open it with his broken hand.

“Give it here,” Kíli sighed kneeling on Thorin’s other side. Now that he knew this was how Fíli wanted to play it—as if nothing had happened—he was willing to play his part as the doting nephew even if it made his heart ache to think of what his Uncle had done to his brother, both for years and yesterday in particular. He opened the skin and handed it back to Fíli with a small smile. Fíli nodded in reply before turning his attention back to his uncle and holding the skin up for his uncle to drink, which he did greedily downing half of the skin before Fíli pulled it away.

“That’s enough for now, Uncle,” Fíli whispered. “The last thing that we need is you making yourself sick.”

“No,” Kíli agreed with snort. “I doubt that vomiting would do you any good at the moment.” Thorin gave a small laugh at Kíli’s morbid humor before moaning in discomfort as the motion jarred his injuries.

“Neither does laughing at your words, little one,” Thorin replied with a wry smile.

“I’ll try to keep the jokes to a minimum then,” Kíli replied shortly, resentment flaring within him at the affectionate term. He hadn’t even thanked Fíli for getting him water before he was smiling at Kíli for causing him pain. With his new understanding of his uncle’s preferences he was having difficulty being near him.

“So,” Fíli said suddenly, having sensed his brother’s mood and trying to shift the topic of conversation to safer areas, “back to my question: how do you feel today, Uncle?”

“I feel” _like I was tortured for hours and then forced myself to march all day long,_ Thorin finished in his head, knowing better than to say it aloud with Kíli looking at him with such guarded eyes and Fíli with such sad ones. He knew that Fíli felt guilt over his injuries and refused to hurt his nephew by telling the truth.

“I’ve felt better, lad,” Thorin answered honestly. He hated the way that Fíli’s face fell. He slowly raised a hand and placed it on Fíli’s bearded cheek, unable to contain the grimace of pain that the movement caused him. “However,” he added when Fíli looked at him once more, “I have also felt worse. I . . . I am in pain but it is not unbearable.” Fíli smiled softly and leaned into his hand just as Kíli had the day before. His heart hurt and his conscience pained him as he saw just how much Fíli cherished that little bit of contact. His face had relaxed, the lines of pain and care disappearing and he looked much younger than he actually was. For a moment Thorin could see the tiny dwarfling he had once been not so long ago. It gave him hope that Fíli would still seek comfort from him after the wrongs that he had done him. Perhaps this could be mended.

Kíli, too, watched his brother’s face relax at the comfort that Thorin had offered. Such a little sign of affection and Fíli melted. Suddenly he could be there no longer. Seeing his proud brother contenting himself—no, _reveling_ in such a scrap of the affection that Kíli experienced from their uncle on a regular basis . . . it awoke something vicious in him and he knew that if he stayed there any longer he would break the promise he had just made to Fíli. He had to leave before he did something that they would all regret.

“I’m hungry,” Kíli said, his voice cold. “I’m going to go wake up Bombur and see if he will help me with breakfast.” He made to stand but stopped with a pained gasp as his bruised back protested the movement. His uncle’s hand fell from Fíli’s face to grasp his forearm. Kíli pulled away from the touch with a hiss, unable to bear his uncle’s hands on him at the moment. Thorin’s eyes filled with pain at the rejection and Fíli scrambled for any excuse other than the truth. He had seen Kíli’s eyes flash with rage and knew what his brother was actually thinking.

“Did he accidently grab your wound, Kíli?” Fíli asked desperately, his blue eyes begging his brother to go along with the lie. Thorin’s eyes widened with understanding and he smiled sadly at Kíli. He had forgotten that Kíli’s arm had been cut the day before and that it would pain him to have it touched. Suddenly his nephew’s actions made more sense.

“Yes,” Kíli agreed hollowly. He rationalized that he wasn’t truly lying, by taking his comfort from Fíli to comfort him, Thorin _had_ touched on a recent wound . . . this one on his heart. “He touched it.”

“I am so sorry, Kíli,” Thorin offered his tone beyond repentant. “I . . . I forgot that it was there.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kíli said, meeting his uncle’s eyes. Thorin flinched at the emptiness he saw there. Maybe he had been wrong in his assumption that Kíli was the least damaged by their recent ordeal. “I’ll go see to breakfast.” He was prepared for the pain this time and made it to his feet though the effort left him panting.

Fíli stared sadly after his brother. _This_ had been why he had never told Kíli. He knew that Kíli loved him enough that he would turn on whomever had wronged him, even if it was their beloved uncle. Kíli hadn’t needed to know. Fíli knew and he had accepted it long ago. There had been no reason to ruin Kíli’s relationship with their uncle. He now wished that Kíli had never figured it out. He knew that he wasn’t worth all the pain that he was causing. He looked at his uncle at the sound of a deep sigh and saw that he, too, was watching as Kíli walked away.

No matter what Kíli had said about him grabbing the wound, that hadn’t been what had caused the coldness in his eyes or the distance in his tone. At first it had confused Thorin but suddenly it clicked into place. Kíli was still angry with him about what he had done the night before. Kíli hadn’t forgiven him yet for what he had forced his nephews to relive. Not that he blamed him but . . . Kíli had always been much too quick to forgive for a dwarf. No matter what wrong had been done him, given a night to cool off he was generally himself once more. _He’s never been wronged this deeply before_ , a voice within Thorin argued. And he had to agree with it. Perhaps Kíli just needed more time. Instead he turned his attention to Fíli, who was gazing down at him with such sad blue eyes that they alone nearly broke his heart anew.

“Fíli,” Thorin began slowly in a grave tone as he grasped his nephew’s unbound hand in both of his. “We . . . we need to talk about what happened last night.” Fíli felt his uncle’s words like a punch to the gut. He had known that this was coming but he had hoped that he would have a moment to prepare for it. He _knew_ that his uncle was about to tell him that he was an embarrassment and that he was disinheriting him in favor of Kíli. He felt tears come unbidden to his eyes once more. He didn’t want to be disowned.

“Uncle, please,” Fíli begged quietly, tears in his voice. His breath coming in pants as the reality of the situation hit home. “ _Please_ don’t do this! Please!” He flung himself against his uncle in his desperation, feeling remorse flood him when Thorin gasped in pain at the pressure but he did not loosen his hold. “Please,” he repeated desperately, his tears flowing once more. “Please don’t say it, Uncle. I know that . . . that I’m an embarrassment to you and our line but _please_ don’t . . . don’t—“

“Hush,” Thorin whispered threading one hand into Fíli’s messy hair as the other held his nephew against him. He rested his cheek on his nephew’s hair and tried in vain to stop his own tears that Fíli could ever think that he would think that of him. Balin was more than correct. He had truly wronged the sweet child that was weeping in his arms and even despite all that he had done to him all Fíli desired of him was approval. He had no idea what he had done to deserve such devotion but he vowed that he would strive to be worthy of it. Fíli would never have cause to doubt his worth to his uncle again.

 “Hush,” he repeated. “You are _not_ an embarrassment to me. You never could be. I am _so_ _very_ proud of you, Fíli. I have been for years. Even when you were a child you showed an inner strength that few grown dwarves possess. And . . . despite it all, all of your skills and abilities, you have managed to stay so kind, so affectionate. No, my lad, I am _not_ embarrassed to call you my kin. You are my beloved sister-son and heir and will remain so to the end of eternity.”

“But, Uncle,” Fíli argued. “I . . . I wasn’t strong yesterday. I . . . I _wept_ in front of our entire company.”

“What of it?” Thorin replied. “You were entitled to a few tears among friends and family after what happened yesterday.”

“But . . .”

“No,” Thorin argued firmly. “You were strong where it mattered, Fíli. In the caves, when everything was on the line . . . you did well, son.” Fíli pulled back to look at his uncle at the strange term of endearment. Thorin had never called him that before. It had always been his name or lad. Never ‘son’ never even “little one” that was for Kíli alone. He had never even called Kíli ‘son.’

“But, I . . . I _hurt_ you,” Fíli sobbed. “I . . . I took a knife and . . . and I . . . I—“

“You did,” Thorin agreed his eyes filled with the same pride that had been there in the caves. “You hurt me. You made me bleed.” Fíli looked away at the statement only for Thorin to grasp his chin as Kíli had earlier and turn his face back.

“However,” Thorin continued seriously, holding Fíli’s gaze, “I have never been prouder of you that I was at that moment. You . . . you were _glorious_ , Fíli. I have always been proud of you but . . . yesterday,” Fíli’s eyes widened as his uncle’s face took on a soft, tender smile—Kíli’s smile, his mother’s smile—that was directed at him. “Yesterday you . . . you showed me just the kind of King you will one day be, Fíli. And . . . and even if we manage to retake Erebor . . . your reign will put my own to shame. . . _You_ will be the King that our people will remember for Ages, son. Not me. You.”

Fíli knew that he should feel proud, happy, something! But all that he could feel was shock. His uncle was _proud_ of him. It made no sense. What was there for him to be proud of? He wasn’t a warrior of renown. He, yes, he had skills with a blade but . . . he wasn’t anything special. Not really. And . . .

“So,” Fíli began in a small lost voice, “so you don’t wish that Kíli had been the firstborn or that you could name him as your heir?” Thorin recognized the tone. It had been the same one that Fíli had asked so many questions in as a child. Now, however, Thorin recognized it for what it had actually been. It wasn’t a request for an answer. It was a request for love and acceptance. Acceptance that had been freely given to Kíli without him having to ask. With a small sob and a deep sigh that made his chest ache, Thorin pulled Fíli back against him as he had before things had changed between them. He fervently wished that he could go back to that time, when Fíli could be cradled against his chest in one arm, and do everything over so that they never needed to come to this.

“Oh, my dear boy,” he whispered into Fíli’s tawny locks as his own tears fell freely. “My dear, _sweet_ , Fíli. I would not trade you for all the gold in Erebor. I love Kíli, just as I love you but . . . there are things I wish that I could change when it comes to my dealings with you but the order of your birth is not one of them. You are a worthy heir, Fíli. I . . . I only apologize that I ever gave you cause to doubt it. There is something . . . a flaw of my own that I must explain to you, my precious nephew. What I have done to you, it is through no fault of your own, Fíli. You have done nothing wrong it is—“ Thorin never got to finish his explanation.

“Thorin!” Balin called cutting him off. The white-headed dwarf’s eyes were wide with panic. “We need to move. Now!” Thorin sighed exasperatedly.

“This can wait, Balin,” Thorin replied. “Leave us for a moment. There are things that Fíli and I need to discuss.” Balin shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t used to defying a direct order from Thorin but this was not a normal situation.

“It can’t wait, Thorin,” Balin said firmly. “There will be time for whatever you and Fíli are discussing later but if we do not go now there may not be a later in which to discuss it.”

“What are you—“

“Orcs,” Balin replied not missing the panic that flared to life in Thorin’s eyes or the way that he unconsciously clutched more tightly at Fíli’s arm. Balin felt remorse flood through him, he knew that Thorin had issues when it came to orcs and he hated to bring them up at a time like this, when the tears on Thorin’s cheeks revealed the vulnerability he was feeling but it had to be done.

“Orcs?” Thorin breathed disbelief flowing through him. First goblins and now this. Goblins, while a breed of Orc, were a weak cousin to the horror that was an orc. He clutched his nephew to him hating that it had to happen now, when he was unable to wield a sword to protect himself let alone Fíli or Kíli. His mind conjured up bloody images of their bodies lying broken in pools of their own blood, their screams of pain as they died filling his ears. He swallowed convulsively trying to tamp down his panic at the idea of his precious nephews coming into contact with the beasts that still haunted his nightmares. Of Fíli being taken from him before he could apologize properly just as Frerin had.

Fíli felt the increase in pressure and pulled back to see an expression on Thorin’s face that he had never seen there before. It almost looked like fear. “Uncle?” he said gently, placing a hand on Thorin’s cheek. His uncle looked at him and Fíli flinched away from the nearly blind panic that he saw there before it was forced back down and Thorin looked at Balin from behind the mask of kingship.

“How long before they are upon us?” Thorin asked trying to modulate his voice into something more steady than the panicked squeak that had tried to emerge.

“I’m not certain,” Balin replied, “Gandalf just got word from a _bird_ of all things that they set out from Moria late last night.” The king breathed a sigh of relief. If they were coming from Moria it was possible that they could avoid them if they moved quickly. Orcs could only move so fast after all. He wondered why they would be coming from Moria in the first place and allowed himself a bit of hope that perhaps they meant to take over Goblin Town and that the presence of him and his company was merely a coincidence. Even he didn’t believe it.

“Thorin,” Balin said quietly, “they are mounted. It is not just an army of Orcs but they are riding Wargs.” Thorin felt his heart sink. They could not outrun wargs, not on foot. Even ponies would have been hard-pressed to do so in this terrain.

“Pack up camp,” Thorin ordered grimly. “We will have to cover as much distance as we can before they are free to move again at nightfall. And Balin,” Thorin added causing the other dwarf to turn back to him with a confused expression. “Do you know what became of my armor?”

“It’s in my pack,” Balin replied with a warm smile. He was glad that Thorin was going to see sense about wearing a bit of protection, especially if they were to face an orc hoard mounted on wargs. “I’ll have it brought to you. Anything else, My King?”

“Pray,” Thorin replied. “Pray that it is not us that they are hunting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well . . . yeah . . . sorry about this. I’m a horrible person. :/ I just make you think that I’m going to fix something and then another complication crops up . . . *hangs head in shame* But you all still love me, right?


	19. Bad News, Rejected Offers and Anger

Kíli and Bombur had already managed to get a fire going and were preparing to begin cooking breakfast when Balin walked up to them, his expression grimmer than either of them had ever seen it.

“Put it out, lads,” Balin said with a sigh. “I’m afraid we don’t have time for breakfast today. Need to get a move on.”

“Without breakfast?” Kíli asked incredulously. “Surely we can spare the time for a meal. Uncle will need a bit to be fully mobile at any rate. He won’t be able to travel until he’s warmed up a bit. And besides, breakfast will help him heal more quickly.”

“Thorin’s orders,” Balin replied simply. “We’re to move out as soon as possible. Go wake the others and pack up.”

“What?! Why?” Kíli demanded. He had known that his uncle would try to put off the conversation that he needed to have with Fíli but to deny the entire company breakfast and himself rest to do it . . . was his uncle _truly_ so desperate to avoid talking to Fíli? His anger that was beginning to dissipate rushed back in full force that his uncle would continue to brush his brother off after all that had happened.

Balin sighed. He knew that they would know eventually. He may as well be the one to tell them. He knelt down by his own pack to retrieve Thorin’s armored shirt before turning back to the young heir who was now glaring daggers in the direction of his brother and uncle.

“If you must know,” Balin said sadly, “we’re being hunted. A large force of orcs mounted on wargs left from Moria last night and are riding this way. They will be able to move again at nightfall and even if we had no wounded we are not faster than wargs. We need whatever head start we can get if we are to win this footrace. _That_ is why there is no breakfast. Now go wake the others. Tell them what you will but it will do no good to hide the truth from them. They deserve to know that the end may be coming.” He saw Kíli’s eyes widen in shock and instantly regretted that he had allowed his own worry to make his words harsh. He had forgotten for a moment just how young Kíli was.

“Orcs?” the young dwarf asked in a small choked voice. “Like the ones that . . .”

“Yes,” Balin agreed gently. “If we’re lucky we will be able to avoid them. Now, go wake the others. Speed is our only chance now.” He watched as Kíli turned to go before calling him back.

“Kíli,” Balin said and waited until he turned once more before smiling gently and trying to reassure him, “We may be attempting to escape them but if we don’t . . .  they’re just orcs, lad. They bleed and die just like anything else. If we can’t escape . . . then we’ll fight. It’s not as hopeless as I made it seem. We may not have Thorin at the moment but there are still many capable warriors in this company. If it _does_ come to a fight . . . well, if nothing else we’ll take many of them with us. Try not to worry too much.”

Kíli nodded but didn’t reply. He couldn’t think of what to say to that. How could he explain to Balin that the very _thought_ of coming face-to-face with something that scared his uncle petrified him? Especially as since the reason that they did not have Thorin fighting fit was because of _goblins._ As if he needed any other reminder what _goblins_ had been capable of when his own wounds still throbbed in time to his heartbeat. The thought of the tortures orcs would be capable of . . . Kíli couldn’t even bring himself to consider it. Especially since goblins—who had done more than enough damage to be going on—were only the lesser cousins of orcs. Even the thought of Orcs made his wounds twinge as if they were being inflicted on him anew.

He tried to keep the panic he felt from his face as he woke Bilbo and Bofur but he must have failed because as he shook Bilbo awake the hobbit glanced sleepily at him before his eyes filled with fear and he began to try to scramble away, bringing up his left hand to protect himself. Kíli felt shame go through him as he saw the bruises covering the back of Bilbo’s hand. He had done that.

“Bilbo,” Kíli said sharply trying to get through the hobbit’s panic and calm him. “You’re fine. I’m awake. I swear. I’m not going to hurt you, Bilbo!”

“Ah, Kíli,” Bilbo said, his panic fading when Kíli began speaking to him in the common tongue. With the panic in the young dwarf’s eyes, Bilbo had been worried that Kíli was attacking Bilbo in his sleep once more. “Glad to see you awake.” Kíli grinned at him sheepishly.

“Sorry about last night,” Kíli offered. “I . . . I didn’t mean to frighten you like I did. Or attack you for that matter.”

“Is that a normal occurrence for you?” Bilbo asked warily. “Do you usually twitch in your sleep and . . . _whatever_ it was that came after?” Despite himself Kíli laughed.

“The twitching, yes,” the young heir said. “Fíli always told me that I twitch too much when I sleep. Threatened to kick me out of bed more than once. He never did, of course. He hasn’t slept alone any more than I have. I’m not sure that either of us actually knows how. “

“And the other thing?” Bilbo demanded. “Do you often sit up and assault your bedmates in foreign languages?”

“Khuzdul isn’t foreign to _us_ , Bilbo,” Bofur chimed in, ignoring the glare that the hobbit sent his way. “For us it is normal. It’s the common tongue that is a bit foreign, right, Kíli?”

“Right,” Kíli agreed looking at Bilbo with sad eyes. “But, no, that is not normal. To my knowledge that is the first time it has ever happened. I am very sorry about it, Bilbo. I can only imagine how scared you were when a crazed dwarf pinned you down and started speaking gibberish. I didn’t hurt your hand too badly, did I?”

“It was rather terrifying,” Bilbo admitted. “Especially after I slapped you. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Barely felt it,” Kíli replied with a wan smile. “What about your hand?” Bilbo flexed it with a grimace before smiling at the young dwarf.

“It hurts but it’ll be fine,” Bilbo said. “Just a couple of bruises. Nothing too bad. So, can I ask what you were dreaming that I got pulled into?”

“Nothing much,” Kíli replied shifting uncomfortably. He didn’t want to tell Bilbo that he had been dream-fighting with himself and his family. “Do you want to tell me just how you managed to get out a mangled Khuzdul apology? I know that you haven’t picked up any of _those_ words from traveling with us. There wasn’t a single curse in there.”

“Ah . . . That would be my fault,” Bofur said uncomfortably. He wasn’t sure how he felt about admitting to the heir of the King that he had fed their language to an outsider—even if it _was_ to save their burglar’s life. “You . . . You weren’t seeing reason and . . . well . . . you couldn’t seem to understand him when he was speaking the common tongue so I . . . well I . . .”

“Helped him talk me down and prevented me from accidently injuring him,” Kíli finished with a gentle smile for the toymaker. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone else. It can be our little secret. Though I don’t know why you’re so worried. It may be a secret language but it’s not as if you were giving out lessons to all comers. Bilbo isn’t truly an outsider. Not any more. He’s been traveling with us for quite some time and Uncle is quite fond of him after his help in the caves and well . . . you did keep me from potentially becoming a murderer. You might even earn a reward if Uncle finds out.”

“Even so . . . “ Bofur said nervously, the probability of Thorin’s ire outweighing the possibility of him _thanking_ Bofur for giving out phrases in Khuzdul. “I would prefer it if we could keep it just between us, if it’s all the same to you. Besides,” he said with a lopsided grin, “last thing we need is Thorin to give his blessing for Bilbo learning Khuzdul. I don’t know if you remember, but his accent is _terrible_.”

“It can’t have been _that_ bad,” Bilbo protested weakly, remembering just how twisted his tongue had felt as he had tried to force out the foreign words that Bofur said with such ease and knowing that it probably had. It hurt his pride. He had always considered himself good with languages but Khuzdul . . . he knew that he was hopeless at it, even so it hurt to be called out on it by his friends.

“It was,” Kíli and Bofur both said with a laugh at the disgruntled look on the hobbit’s face.

“Dwarves!” Bilbo muttered darkly while rolling up his bedding before standing to move towards Bombur. “I’ll just go over here. At least _he_ understands that some skills are more important that being able to pronounce a language with far too many consonants. I’ll just help with breakfast. At least _there_ my talents are appreciated.”

“I’m afraid you won’t, Bilbo,” Kíli said sadly, sobering instantly as he remembered what he had come over to them to do. “There’s not going to be any breakfast today.”

“Why ever not!?” Bilbo snapped put out that not only was he forced to endure the scorn of his friends but was going to have to do it on an empty stomach. “Surely we can take the time for breakfast! Thorin won’t—“

“We can’t,” Kíli replied shaking his head emphatically, his previous panic rushing back with full force. “We need to get moving. We’re being hunted.”

“Goblins?” Bofur asked with a resigned sigh. He had thought that it would take them longer to get organized after the death of their leader and the swath of destruction that the company had wrought on the way out of the mountain but he supposed that would be just their luck. It seemed lately that the only manner of luck they had was bad luck.

“Worse,” Kíli replied sadly, pure fear flooding the depths of his brown eyes once more.

“What could be worse than goblins?” Bilbo demanded with a shudder as he remembered the clawed hands and cruelty of the goblins. He couldn’t imagine that there could be anything worse in Middle Earth. True, the trolls had been dangerous but they had also been stupid. The Goblins had been both evil and intelligent. He could not imagine a worse combination.

“There are worse things,” Kíli whispered, his breathing coming much too quickly and too shallowly as he allowed the stories he had heard of Orcs to flow through his mind. Of the things that he had heard they did to enemies. Especially to dwarves. There was a fine tremor running through him at the _thought_ of what the orcs would do if they managed to capture them. He knew that it would make what had happened in Goblin Town look like child’s play.

“Not Orcs?” Bofur breathed in horror. He had never faced them himself but he had heard more than enough stories of the epic battles between the dwarves and the orcs to know what it was that they were up against if that was what was hunting them. While he controlled his panic better than Kíli, he was no calmer at the prospect of facing orcs.

“Orcs,” Kíli agreed in a hopeless tone. Bilbo looked between the two dwarves in confusion. He knew what an orc was but he was not entirely sure how orcs differed from goblins. He had been under the impression that they were the same thing under a different name. He had not been raised on tales of the atrocities of orcs and did not know what it was that might await them. All he knew was that as more of the company was awakened and told of the reason for their abrupt move, he could see varying levels of fear in all of their eyes. That, more than anything else, told him that he should hope that they never came into contact with the orcs.

**ooOO88OOoo**

On the other side of the camp, Thorin was wishing the same thing. Unlike Bilbo and some of the others, he _had_ witnessed the cruelties of the orcs first hand. After Balin had left them, Thorin had pulled Fíli back against him and held his nephew tightly as if by sheer force of will he could ensure that no orc would even touch Fíli. He was stroking Fíli’s hair and fighting the urge to curse fate that would allow this to happen before he or his nephews had had a chance to heal from what had happened to them in the caves.

Fíli flinched as Thorin’s fingers tightened on his hair, pulling it. From his position against his uncle he could hear the elevated rate of Thorin’s heart as he tried to fight against the panic that this new, cruel twist of fate had caused. Fíli lay there, his blue eyes wide in his surprise at the depth of his uncle’s response to such a simple word. Fíli knew that orcs were terrible but his uncle had faced them more than once and had come out the other side alive. Surely he was not _this_ afraid of orcs. Even if Fíli instinctively knew that there was no way that his uncle, Thorin Oakenshield, was afraid, that was the only logical explanation for his reaction that Fíli could come up with.

His uncle was scared—no, _terrified_ —by the mere mention of orcs. He hadn’t known that his uncle was terrified of _anything_. This was an emotion that he had never seen before, nor even heard tell of. _Perhaps it’s because he’s defenseless_ , Fíli though with a sigh. _He’s defenseless because of what I did to him. He’s about to come face-to-face with a ferocious enemy and is not even able to defend himself._   

“Uncle,” Fíli said hesitantly, pulling back to gage his uncle’s response to what he intended to say. He wasn’t sure, even with Thorin’s recent declaration of love, how his uncle would take being called out on his fear or how he would take the offer that Fíli was about to make. When Thorin’s hard blue gaze shifted to his face he lost his nerve. He couldn’t ask. Not about this.

“Never mind, Uncle,” Fíli said moving back to his place kneeling beside his uncle and looking down at his bound hand. It wasn’t as if he could carry through with the promise he had been intending to make anyway. With his broken hand he was crippled in a fight. He could only hold one blade. He couldn’t even hold a shield or throw knives. He was next to useless as it was. No. Thorin deserved a better protector. Perhaps Dwalin or Glóin. They were battle-tried warriors. They would be able to protect Thorin better than a crippled dwarfling.

Thorin had watched as the cautious hope in Fíli’s eyes faded and was replaced by polite distance before Fíli had shut down entirely and moved away from him. It hurt him that Fíli did not think that he could come to him with _any_ concern. He knew that he had no one to blame for the distance between them but himself, but that made it hurt no less. Fíli should never have had cause to worry about what he could say to him. He _should_ have known that nothing he could ever say would upset Thorin . . . or not for long and that he would still love him even if he _was_ upset. But he did not and it was all Thorin’s fault.

“What did you want to say to me, Fíli?” Thorin asked gently, attempting to coax his nephew into opening up once more. “I _swear_ to you I will listen. You may speak whatever it is that is troubling you.” Fíli looked at him doubtfully and Thorin did his best to smile reassuringly through his own fear and pain. “I swear it on my life, lad, I will not judge you. Are you afraid? It is fine if you are, Fíli. Lack of fear is not what makes a warrior.”

“I am,” Fíli admitted quietly, as if he were admitting something filthy and disgusting. “I’m afraid, Uncle. But not only for myself.” He looked up, his blue eyes soft with love and filled with fear at the same time. “I . . . I’m afraid for you, Uncle, and for Kíli. Both of you . . . you’re wounded and . . . in your case it’s _my fault_!” Fíli’s eyes filled with tears against at his last words and they escaped him in a sob.

“Hush,” Thorin soothed. “Come here, Fíli,” he lifted his hand slightly and extended it to his nephew. Fíli obliged and once more allowed his uncle to hold him as he wept. “This is not your fault, Fíli. I have said it before and it was no less true then. You had no real choice in this, lad. I _do_ _not_ blame you for this, Fíli. _Please_ do not continue to torture yourself with this. I will survive this, Fíli. I promise you.”

“I know you will,” Fíli said pulling back once more with determination burning through the tears in his eyes. “I will see to it myself. No orc will touch you or Kíli as long as I live. I sw—“

“No! Fíli don’t say that!” Thorin said, panic flooding his veins at the promise that Fíli was attempting to make. He could not allow Fíli to swear his life to protect Thorin’s. There was no way that he could bear it if his nephew was injured or . . . or killed for his sake. He hated the way that Fíli’s face fell, his determination fading under a wave of insecurity, at Thorin’s outburst but he refused to take it back. Better Fíli be discouraged than be killed needlessly in an attempt to save his life—not when it was Thorin’s job to protect _Fíli_.

“You . . . you don’t want me by your side?” Fíli asked in a small, lost voice. “I thought that. . .” he paused and swallowed back his tears. Mentally he berated himself. He _should_ have known better than to think that things would ever change between them, despite what his uncle had said about being sorry for what he had done. He _should_ have known better than to hope that his uncle spoke the truth about the fact that his love for Fíli was no less than his love for Kíli. But the fact that he had allowed himself to help made his uncle’s move now only hurt all the more deeply.

“I’m sorry, lad,” Thorin said quietly, unable to meet Fíli’s eyes and see the pain that he was causing. He knew that his rejection of Fíli’s offer would hurt him but . . . he could not bring himself to regret his word if they enabled Fíli to survive the coming attack. It was imperative that he live, even if Thorin fell in the process of ensuring Fíli’s survival.

“It is not that I do not want you, Fíli,” Thorin said gently. “It is simply that that is a promise that I cannot allow you to make. I _want_ you beside me. It is just that . . . I _cannot_ accept your offer of your life to protect mine. I _am_ sorry, Fíli.”

“I’m sorry as well, _Uncle_ ,” Fíli spat shooting a glare at Thorin, his pain at his uncle’s newest rejection and his anger at himself for daring to hope twisting and targeting his uncle. “Sorry that I am not the brother that you prefer. I’m sorry that it was Kíli and not I that was wounded in the caves and that I am the only one of your heirs in any position to make such an offer.”

“Fíli,” Thorin sighed realizing for the first time how Fíli had taken his words and trying desperately to fix his error before he lost Fíli once more. “That is not what I meant, lad. If you will just _listen_ —“

“Why?!” Fíli demanded gesturing angrly. “So that you can tell me _more_ lies, Uncle? So that you can allow me to _hope_ that you _might_ . . . No. I’m done listening.” Thorin’s heart broke at the pain and anger in Fíli’s words. He briefly wondered what had happened to the dwafling that had had such unshakable trust in him—that _knew_ that Thorin would _never_ lie to him—before remembering that _he_ had been the one to break that trust and push Fíli away. _He_ was the reason that Fíli now thought him capable of lying to him. _He_ was the reason Fíli was in such pain now. His mistakes and reservations had brought for the very thing that he had been trying to prevent: Fíli hated him.

“Fíli, please,” Thorin began as Fíli climbed to his feet and prepared to walk away. “ _Please_ just listen to what I have to say. _Please!”_

“No, Uncle,” Fíli replied with a sad smile. “I love you but I will not listen to your lies. I . . . I can’t bear it. I _cannot_ bear for you to pretend that I matter as much to you as Kíli does. Not now. Please. Just . . . just don’t. Not now.”

“They are _not_ lies, lad,” Thorin said desperately. “If you will just allow me to explain!”

“I don’t want to hear it, Uncle,” Fíli said with a sad laugh. “I’m not sure what you think you can say that you believe will make up for what has passed between us in the past eighty years but . . . I . . . I don’t want to hear it.” Before Thorin could respond, Balin was there carrying Thorin’s armor.

“Here you are, Thorin,” Balin said with a wide grin, oblivious to the tense situation he had just walked into blinded by his relief that Thorin had seen sense. “Let’s get you to your feet and dressed.” He bent to help his King up but Thorin shook his head.

“No,” Thorin replied firmly. “I did not have you bring it for me. My position has not changed since yesterday. I cannot wear it, Balin. I had you bring it for Fíli. I ask that you help Fíli into it in my stead.”

“Uncle,” Fíli sighed exasperatedly. They had already discussed this the day before. Fíli had already refused to wear it. His opinion on the matter had not changed either. Kíli was the favorite. He would always be the favorite and he was injured. It only made sense to protect him from harm. If Thorin would not wear it, Kíli should.

“This is not a request, lad,” Thorin said coolly. “It’s an order, from either your uncle or your king. Take it as you will but you _will_ allow Balin to put that armor on you if I have to have you restrained to make it happen.” Fíli glared at his uncle for a moment before his anger and indignation faded and bitter resignation took their place before he offered Thorin a mock bow.

“As my _king_ commands,” Fíli whispered before turning to Balin, rage seething in his eyes once more and holding his arms out to his sides like a scarecrow with a mirthless smile twisting his features. “You heard him, Balin,” he said sarcastically. “We’ve received a _royal_ decree. Who are we to defy something like that?” Balin sighed and glanced at Thorin with a look that clearly said ‘Now see what you’ve done,’ before he moved forward and helped Fíli into Thorin’s armor. It was too large and quite a few adjustments needed to be made before Fíli was even remotely comfortable in it—and even then he felt abnormally heavy and slow—but they did eventually get it worked out. Once they were done, Fíli shot one final scathing look at his uncle before he moved away to collect his things in preparation of moving out.

Balin watched him go with sad eyes before he turned his attention to Thorin and began the slow process of helping the wounded King to his feet. It took many stops and curses but they eventually managed to get Throin upright.

“No offence,” Balin said once they were done, “but I think that you may have just destroyed whatever progress you had made with him.” Rather than respond in anger, Thorin sighed wearily.

“I know that I did,” Thorin replied eventually as he watched Fíli angrily struggle to roll his bedding with one hand. “But I _cannot_ lose him, Balin. Not to orcs. If angering him is what it takes to save his life . . . well, it is a price that I will gladly pay.” Balin sighed. He wanted to tell Thorin that he had already lost his nephew due to his own stupid mistakes even if Fíli _was_ still alive but he did not have the heart to twist the knife in the wound. He knew that Thorin was already aware of the damage that had been done and no amount of pointing it out would make it any better. So instead, Balin said nothing more on the subject.

“I really _should_ have a look at your wounds and change your bandages before we move out,” Balin said with a sigh. He had no real desire to see the damage that had been carved into Thorin’s skin but knew that they could not allow it to go untreated for long. Even if they had taken care the day before, it was possible that due to the sheer volume of their King’s injuries they had missed one or even that Thorin’s exertions the day before had done damage to their work that would need tending.

“We have no time,” Thorin replied stubbornly. “I will slow us down enough as it is. I will not risk all of your lives by wasting time retending my own wounds. They have already been closed and cleaned. They will be fine until we are in a better position to take time out for them.”

“Thorin,” Balin said, “I know that it will take time that we do not have but . . . if they become infected that will take longer. Let me look at them. I’ll be quick about it.”

“No,” Thorin said, his tone making it clear that he would hear no more on the matter. “You can look at them once we are safe. I will alert you at the first sign of infection. I will feel it long before it becomes dangerous.”

“Whatever you say, Thorin,” Balin agreed reluctantly. He only hoped that Thorin would keep his promise. The last thing that they needed was to be forced to tend to an infection ridden King in the middle of nowhere with an orc pack on their tails.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we are all . . . a new chapter that totally tears apart all the fixing I did in the last one :( I know, I know . . . I suck :D But you all still love me, right?


	20. Frustration, Self-Loathing, Understanding and Heartbreak

Fíli let out a growl of frustration as he tried to secure his bedroll to his pack with one hand. It was impossible. Even using his teeth he could not manage to tie a secure enough knot with just one hand so that it did not shift. He felt a small sob attempt to rise up his throat at the small failure. He knew that it was foolish to allow something so small to upset him so greatly but it seemed that all he was capable of lately was failure. Not that that was anything new, not to his uncle. He had been failing Thorin for as long as he could remember. The only difference was that now everyone could see his mistakes and inabilities laid bare for them. With another small sob he began again to attempt to tie his bedroll to the pack as his thoughts took a decidedly dark turn.

The thought of everyone turning on him like Kíli had terrified him—he knew that he could not bear it if the entire company came to hate him for his failings—and his fear fed into the rage and pain that he felt from his uncle’s newest rejection of him. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to hate his uncle or blame Thorin for his own pain. Fíli _knew_ that his pain was his own fault. If only he had been better, smarter, _worthier_ then, perhaps, his uncle wouldn’t have rejected him. After all, why would his uncle want him as a protector when he couldn’t even tie a knot and there were so many flaws in his skills when he was whole and well? No, he was not angry with his uncle for choosing to have someone more skilled at his side, he was angry with himself for daring to hope that things were going to change.

He felt a hint of the blind rage that he had felt the day before begin to stir in him and was suddenly terrified of what he might do. It wasn’t his uncle’s threat that hung over his head. He still felt that losing his beard was no less than he deserved for what he had done to Kíli. No what terrified him was that he had seen yesterday what he was capable of. He had seen just how much he was able to hurt those he loved and it terrified him. More than the orcs that now pursued them he was terrified of himself. He was more dangerous to his friends and family than any pack of orcs could ever be. At least with the orcs they knew there was danger, with him . . . he was unstable and there was little warning before he snapped. What if he managed to actually kill someone this time?

With a panicked sob he threw his bedding from him and began to claw at the ties holding his uncle’s armor in place. Even though it was actually too large, it suddenly felt as though he could not breathe. It was too tight, the pressure of the protection that he did not deserve crushing him. He felt guilt rise within him. His uncle had forced him into the armor and in the process taken protection from Kíli and himself to protect his unworthy heir. His uncle’s action of protecting him made no sense to him and his confusion only caused him more pain as he tried to force it all to make sense. His uncle’s words . . . forcing his armor onto Fíli . . . they merged together and caused Fíli to _hate_ the armor in a way that he was unable to bring himself to hate his uncle. He hated it for being a constant reminder of the lies that he had believed, the hope he had allowed himself to have. It was all too much for him. He fisted his good hand in his hair and pulled, trying to regain control of himself but it was a battle that he was losing.

He could feel his control slipping and _knew_ that he was about to lose himself to the rage once more. He wasn’t sure if he could come back from it this time. Last time, Kíli had been the target but this time he was livid with himself. How could he find resolution with himself? His breath was coming in ragged pants as his panic intensified. He was losing himself. Suddenly there was a small voice. It said his name, nothing more but that was all he needed. Something in his mind recognized that voice and the love and concern it contained and he clung to it amidst the storm that was his conflicting emotions and allowed it to ground him.

After what felt like an eternity but was only actually a few short moments, Fíli managed to force the rage away and opened his eyes to see Kíli’s concerned brown eyes looking at him. His brother was standing just out of arms’ reach with his head tilted slightly to the side surveying him as he had so many times before when Fíli did or said something that Kíli did not understand.

“K-Kíli?” Fíli panted looking up at him and wiping at the tears that he could feel on his cheek in embarrassment. He mentally berated himself for crying over such a little thing. It had been a _bedroll_ that had triggered his tears. All he could feel was shame.

“Are you alright,” Kíli asked watching his brother cautiously, unsure of what to expect from Fíli after his outbursts the day before. When Fíli looked up at him, feelings of betrayal visible in his blue eyes, Kíli raised his hands cautiously and began backing away to give Fíli the space that he clearly needed.

“I was just coming to check on you,” Kíli said quickly, his voice quivering with fear, as he retreated. “I . . . I saw you storm away from Uncle and I thought . . . well I thought that you might need someone to . . . to talk to. I see that I was wrong and I-I-I’ll just leave you be.”

“No,” Fíli whispered, the single word broken. The disconsolate tone of Fíli’s voice broke Kíli’s heart. He wondered just what had passed between his brother and uncle after he had left but felt rage coil within him that Thorin had broken Fíli even more than he had already been. Did their uncle truly dislike Fíli so much that he could not even _pretend_ that he cared for him when it was clear that Fíli needed him? Kíli had never seen Fíli so broken, so defeated, in his entire life. It hurt him to see his proud, strong brother in such a state.

“’No’ what, Fíli?” Kíli asked feeling more like a child than he had in years at the helplessness that he felt watching his brother suffer. Worse still was the knowledge that he could do nothing to end Fíli’s suffering but at that moment he would have done _anything_ if he thought that he could. His eyes went wide in shock as he realized that this was how Fíli must have felt in the Goblin Caves _. Oh, Mahal, no!This was how Fíli had felt and then I_ . . . Kíli’s thoughts stopped there, unable to put into words just how horrified he was at what he had actually done to his brother. The blood drained from his face as he realized just how deeply he had wounded his brother and his knees went out from under him as he bowed under the weight of his actions.

“Kíli?!” Fíli cried, forcing his own thoughts down as he watched his brother pale and fall to his knees where he stayed, staring at the ground with wide, unseeing eyes. “Kíli!” he tried again to get his brother’s attention as he scrambled across the ground and began checking Kíli for new wounds. There was nothing, no arrow, no dagger . . . he felt panic begin to grip him once more at the fear that Kíli was suffering from some internal damage that they had not been able to see and that he was only just succumbing to.

“Kíli!” he said once more, grabbing his brother’s face between his hands—ignoring his own pain in his fear for his brother—and tilting it up towards him. “Please, Kee, tell me what’s wrong!” The use of the petname that Fíli only ever used when it was just the two of them seemed to snap Kíli from his shock and he drew a shuddering breath before meeting Fíli’s fear-filled blue eyes.

“Fíli I . . . Oh, Mahal!” he exclaimed before throwing himself at his brother and tangling his hands in Fíli’s hair and burying his own face in his brother’s neck as tears of remorse freely fell. “Fíli . . . Fee . . . I . . . I’m so sorry. I . . . I . . .” In his grief, Kíli’s mind shut off and the only language that came to mind was Khuzdul. He didn’t even seem to notice that he had shifted as he continued his apology.

“ _I can’t believe that I could do that to you, Brother,”_ Kíli sobbed in Khuzdul. “ _I . . . I was **stupid** and **selfish** and . . . If you can’t forgive me I understand but please, **please** let me stay by you. I will make up for it however I can just don’t . . . don’t push me away Fíli. I know that I’m being selfish again but . . .” _ At that point Kíli lost all coherence and took to sobbing broken words in Khuzdul.

“What’s going on here?” Dwalin asked suddenly and Fíli head shot up only to find the entire company staring down at them in confusion. He shook his head as he gazed up at them, panic and shock written into his face.

“I . . . I don’t know,” Fíli breathed. “I was frustrated with my pack and he came over to help and then . . . I don’t know! He . . . he just collapsed and started sobbing. I don’t know what happened!” He glanced around wordlessly begging for one of them to help him console Kíli. He didn’t know what to do. He had never seen his brother like this before.

Thorin couldn’t stand the pain in Fíli’s eyes as he looked at his brother and decided that he would try to do what he could, even if he knew that Fíli did not want him anywhere near him. With Balin’s aid, he knelt beside them and placed a gentle hand on Kíli’s arm, knowing that there was no wound there, and squeezed it.

“Kíli,” he said, a note of command in his tone that Kíli had always responded to before. “Kíli, look at me.” When he complied, Thorin wished that he hadn’t. There was such anger burning in the depths of Kíli’s eyes that Thorin had only ever seen directed at one other: the Goblin King. “Kíli?” Thorin breathed, his tone questioning and more vulnerable than any of them had ever heard from him before as he was faced with the hatred of his youngest nephew.

“ _How could you?”_ Kíli hissed, his emotion still making it impossible for him to form words in the common tongue. “ _How could you?!”_ he released his hold on Fíli to turn to glare fully at his uncle.

“Kíli, **NO**!” Fíli shouted trying to put a hand over his brother’s mouth to silence the words that he knew were coming. “Don’t do it! Kíli, you promised me! Kee! You promised!” He missed his mouth but managed to get a hand on his cheek and turned Kíli’s face back to him rather than their uncle. “Please,” Fíli begged in little more than a whisper. “Don’t do this, Kee. It's not worth it.” **_I'm_ **_not worth it_ , he mentally finished.

Despite himself, Kíli felt his anger begin fade at Fíli’s pleading. Now that he knew what he had done to his brother he could deny Fíli nothing. With a sigh, he nodded and allowed the blinding rage to dissipate leaving him unexpectedly tired and slightly numb. The sadness in Fíli's eyes was too much for him to bear and he did the only thing that he could think of: he pulled his brother into an embrace, cradling Fíli's head against his chest as he had when they were upset as children and resting his cheek on the top of his brother's hair as Fíli's arms gently wound around his chest.

"I'm sorry, Fee," Kíli whispered. "I'll try to remember in the future." He felt Fíli nod against him but neither of them said anything else. Fíli allowed Kíli to hold him but in the back of his mind he wondered if he was worthy of the love Kíli was showing him now. But he pushed that thought away. More pressing at the moment was his concern over just how long this new swing of Kíli's feelings would last. How long would it be before Kíli turned on him again?

Thorin watched as Fíli talked Kíli down and as Kíli clung to his brother, his posture clearly one of someone defending fallen kin. Thorin had seen that posture countless times on the battlefield but never had either of his nephews demonstrated it before. There had never been a need. And Thorin had to wonder what had sparked it now. Who did Kíli think that he was protecting Fíli _from_? The hatred in Kíli's eyes suddenly flashed through his mind and Thorin went numb as he realized that he may have lost them both. Kíli knew. The questions, the hatred . . . Kíli _knew_. Even though Thorin knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Kíli knew of his greatest failing with Fíli, he had to make sure.

"Kíli?" Thorin said softly, the tone gentle, pleading--one that, once more, none had ever heard from him before. Kíli's brown eyes flicked to meet Thorin's blue ones and what he saw there broke his heart. In his youngest nephew's eyes was the same pain and anger and disappointment that had been in Frerin's all those years ago. For the first time, Thorin realized the true severity of what he had done. Because of his own insecurities and shortcomings he had not only lost Fíli, but also Kíli and most likely Dís once she found out what he had done to her eldest son. His sister loved him but, as was proper, her boys came first. When she learned of what he had put them through . . . he would be fortunate if she spared his life, let alone ever spoke to him again.

"Balin?" Thorin said looking up at his oldest friend, the pain and vulnerability he was feeling unmasked in his face and in his tone. "Help me up?" Thorin ordered softly, the tone lacking the ring of command and making the order more of a weak request. "We need to move out."

"Of course, Thorin," Balin replied, pity in his dark eyes as he gazed down at his King who was now broken not only physically but mentally as well, the certainty in which he had lived his life having been shattered by Kíli's anger.  With a jerk of his head, Balin called Dwalin over to assist him. Thorin let out a small gasp of pain as their hands touched him, the extent of his injuries making avoiding them all impossible, and another small, almost plaintive noise of discomfort left his throat as they pulled him to his feet. Rather than brush them off once he was standing, as he had before, this time Thorin held them in place, resting some of his weight on them as the waves of pain washed over his body.

Kíli's anger had not only broken his heart but his resolve as well. It had broken _him_. The sheer force of will that had enabled him to push back his own pain for the good of the company and his nephews was gone and in its place was only the truth. Thorin was in excruciating pain and it had all been for nothing. He _knew_ that there was no way that either of his boys would ever look on him with love again. Fíli had been right earlier when he had said that there was nothing that Thorin could say to make up for what he had done. What he most feared had come to pass. He was alone in the world and it was his own fault.

He glanced around at the averted eyes of his company. He knew that they had looked away in an attempt to preserve his pride but he could have told them that they needn't have bothered. There was nothing left of his pride to preserve. And even if there was, he was undeserving of their courtesy after the wrongs he had committed against his own family time and again.

"Thorin?" he heard Balin ask from beside him and turned his head listlessly to look at his friend. "Shouldn't we be moving out?" Thorin nodded sharply and tried to force his pain back behind the shattered wall that used to be his iron will and tried to stand a bit straighter as he surveyed the company once more.

"Move out," Thorin ordered. "It'll be a hard march, lads, but better that than a sword through the back, eh?" There were curt nods of approval as the company broke apart to shoulder packs and gather together the last of their things. "Let's get a head start," Thorin said with a sad smile to Balin and Dwalin. "I'm going to need it."  

Once the three of them had left the clearing, Bilbo looked up at Bofur and whispered, "What just happened?" The hobbit wondered if he had missed something that had some cultural significance to them--like the thing with Fíli's beard--that had upset their leader so or if perhaps what Kíli had said had done it. Secret language or no, Bilbo decided that he would have to try to pick up some of it. There had been far too much conversation that he could not understand lately for his tastes.

After too long had passed without an answer Bilbo repeated his question. "Bofur," he said waiting for the dwarf to turn to him before he asked again. "What just happened?"

"I don't know," Bofur replied shaking his head. "Didn't make any sense. Maybe it's a revisit of an old family squabble. There is one thing that I _do_ know." Bilbo looked up hopefully, thinking that he was about to get some insight into what he had just witnessed that might explain why Thorin had looked so broken. His hopes were dashed as Bofur spoke once more.

"The one thing I do know is that whatever just happened between the three of them . . . It wasn't good," Bofur said with a sad glance at Thorin's retreating back and at the way the King still leaned on Dwalin as he limped along. "Not good at all," he added darkly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi *chuckles nervously* so . . . new chapter . . . . . . Please don't kill me! I swear it'll get better . . . I think . . . anyway if you kill me now this is where it stays so . . . 
> 
> That said, I hope you enjoyed it from a technical perspective if a content perspective is impossible though I do think that if you have made it this far you just thrive on angst so . .. yeah :)
> 
>  
> 
> This time I have a QUESTION for you: For the next two weeks I am going to be writing like a madwoman to try to get as much done on these stories as I can before school starts up the first week of June. After it does updates will become much more sporadic (it's an accelerated program that compresses 2 years of study into 9 months. What would be a normal semester is now crammed into 8 weeks and well . . . that's a lot to do and very little time to do it) Here's where the question comes in. Do you want me to post as I get it done and get a mass amount of uploads in the next two weeks and then potentially silence for a while or would you rather that I hold them and give out a chapter (or two) a week? I think I prefer the spread out method but will do it whichever way is the most popular on each of my stories. I do want happy readers after all ;D. So vote for you choice in the comments!


	21. Resentment, Hoplessness, Aid and Doubts

"Kíli?" Fíli whispered trying to pull free of his brother's hold. "Kíli, we need to get moving. The orcs, Kíli." Reluctantly the dark-haired brother released his sibling and sat back on his heels and looked at Fíli with infinite sadness in his eyes before he turned away and picked up Fíli's pack and bedroll from where he had tossed them. With nimble fingers, he tied the knots that his brother had been unable to and handed the pack back to Fíli, his eyes now begging for the forgiveness that he knew he did not deserve. Fíli took it from him and set it in his lap before he reached for his brother.

Kíli saw Fíli's hand come up and flinched away closing his eyes as he anticipated the blow that he knew was coming. He didn't even try to block it. He knew that it was less than he deserved for what he had done to Fíli. He opened his eyes warily when, instead of striking him, Fíli gently cupped his cheek and wiped away a tear. He was surprised by his brother's gentle smile and confused by it. Why was Fíli smiling at him? How could he after what Kíli had done to him? That had been beyond vile and . . . unforgivable.

"I thought we agreed that there would be no more apologies between us, Brother. That included you," Fíli said with a small laugh before he pulled back to position his pack and stood, offering Kíli a hand up. Even if he did not trust this new mood to last, he was sure of one thing. The foul moods would not last either. Kíli loved him. Before the quest he would have said that Kíli loved him unconditionally but now he knew that it was untrue. But that was fine with him. He did not see where he was worthy of unconditional love and even if it was dependant on him behaving as he was expected to, Kíli _did_ love him. There was only one person in the world who loved him as much, if not more than, Kíli did and that was his mother. She was beyond reach. Kíli was here. As imperfect as his love was, it was still love and Fíli would take what he could get.

"We did," Kíli agreed, wiping the last remaining tears from his eyes with the back of his hand and taking the help that Fíli offered—willing to admit that he needed it. "I just . . . I figured that I owed you one more. Now that I realize what I actually did to you. Fíli I really am—"

"No more, Kíli," Fíli said firmly, placing a hand over his mouth to stop his words. "I don't want to hear any more apologetic words from family today. Words can be lies. If you want me to believe that you are truly sorry, _show_ me. Don't tell me. Show me. Don't promise me that you will never do it again. Just don't do it. And I will do the same for you. My lack of assaults on your person will be my proof of my regret for having done it in the first place. Deal?"

"Deal," Kíli agreed reluctantly. He wasn't sure that he could do it. He wasn't sure that he could prevent himself from _ever_ snapping at his brother again and he knew that the first time he did he would break the promise he had just made and lose Fíli forever. Just as he had lost his uncle moments before. He had seen Thorin's pain at his anger but he still could not bring himself to care. He knew that he probably would later but the pain of his discovery of what Fíli had suffered through for so long in silence was still too fresh. His guilt over having not seen it and tried to do something about it too great. He _knew_ that he should catch up to his uncle and attempt to talk to him but he couldn't see how he could do it _and_ keep his first promise to Fíli at the same time. What he didn't realize was that even if he had never said the words that Fíli had asked him not to, his glares had had the same affect. Thorin knew that Kíli knew what happened between Thorin and Fíli and that Kíli was not pleased with it. He could not have hurt Thorin more _had_ he ignored Fíli's pleas and broken his promise.

Fíli did. Fíli realized that by stopping his brother a second time he had not actually stopped him from hurting their uncle. He couldn't help but be a bit angry with Kíli for doing it. He understood why he did . . . sort of. He understood that Kíli was angry _for_ him but he couldn't help but feel that for all Kíli's fine words about not turning on family ever again he had gone and done it once more. Only this time instead of Fíli it had been their uncle that Kíli had disowned in all but name.

As he, Kíli, Bilbo and Bofur set out after the company, he allowed his mind to wander rather than try to focus on the conversation the other three were having—something about Bilbo being an honorary dwarf?—but he was still irritated by their banter in light of what had just happened. Had they missed the entire last day's worth of events? Had they missed all the pain and fear and tension? Had they missed just how hurt his uncle had been by what Kíli had just done not even a day after their uncle had been prepared to sacrifice his health and his life for Kíli's? Did the pain Thorin was still experiencing from his wounds—both physical and emotional—mean nothing to any of them?

Bilbo he could almost understand. Nothing seemed to upset him for long and he was not near as close to Thorin as the rest of them were. By that token Bofur could be forgiven as well. He did not really _know_ Thorin. Not like Fíli and Kíli did. No one did except for their mother. So perhaps it hadn't been so obvious to him just how deeply Kíli had wounded their uncle,  but Kíli . . . there was no excuse for his levity in light of his recent actions. Kíli had no excuse for joking with them moments after he had ripped their uncle's heart from his chest.

 At the sound of Kíli's laughter an image of his uncle's stricken face as Kíli had turned on him only moments before filled his mind and suddenly Fíli was _furious_ with Kíli. He wanted nothing more than to grab him and pin him against the nearest tree and _demand_ to know what right Kíli thought he had to interfere in Thorin and Fíli's business after what he had done the day before? After he had _disowned_ Fíli? He wanted to tell him that his words in the cave had done more damage that any of their uncle's "mistreatment" had and that if Kíli wanted to berate anyone for their treatment of Fíli it should be himself. _He_ wanted to tell Kíli that he was vile and that no brother of his could ever have spoken to someone who had been as kind to him as Uncle had been—who had protected, cared for and _loved_ him so well for his entire life—in such a way.  He wanted to take all of Kíli's words the day before and throw them back in his face and make _Kíli_ feel as worthless as Kíli had made him feel . . . but at the same time he didn't. He loved his brother and didn't want to cause him the same kind of pain that Kíli had caused him. So, instead of turning _on_ Kíli, he turned away from him.

With a feral grow deep in his throat, Fíli sped up. Nearly doubling his pace in an effort to move up the column and put some distance between him and his _brother_.

"Fíli?" Kíli called, his eyes going wide at the sudden change in his brother's demeanor. Only a moment ago he had been calm and sad and now anger was radiating from him just as it had the day before. The mood swing scared Kíli and he wanted nothing more than to put as much distance between them as he could, the cut on his cheek flaring to painful life as he recalled the last time Fíli had made such an abrupt mood swing, but instead he stood his ground and attempted to face up to whatever mistake he had made to upset his brother this time. He owed Fíli that much. If they were ever going to fix this he couldn't run every time his brother showed the slightest sign of displeasure. Even if he wanted to.

"Leave me be, Kíli," Fíli snapped without bothering to turn around. "I don't want to talk to you at the moment." Even though every instinct that Kíli had told him to run to Fíli and cling to him and demand that they talk this out as he always had . . . well, that hadn't ended well for either of them yesterday. So rather than do as he had always done, Kíli did as he was told. His shoulders drooping with defeat and a deep sigh leaving his chest before he was able to speak.

"Alright," Kíli whispered unable to look at Fíli as he agreed, feeling that he was abandoning his brother to suffer alone. "I'm here if you change your mind, Brother. You can _always_ talk to me. I'll still be here when you're ready." Fíli felt shock break briefly through the rage at Kíli's ready acceptance of his request followed by guilt for what he had done that had caused the change in his brother which morphed back into anger that Kíli was able to make him feel guilty even when he was so angry with him. With his anger turned on Kíli once more, Fíli moved up the line of dwarves in search of his uncle to attempt to provide him what little comfort he could as the least-favored of his kin. Some small part of his mind registered that they moved out of his path rather hastily and felt remorse that they were afraid of him but the greater part was pleased that they were not impeding his path to his uncle.

He reached them just as Thorin took a bad step and stopped with a gasp, gripping Dwalin's arm tightly enough that his knuckles stood out white against his skin. Dwalin winced at the pressure his friend was putting on his arm but said nothing. Instead he endure in silence as Thorin breathed heavily through his nose attempting to keep from crying out as he rode out the newest wave of pain. Dwalin may have been angry with Thorin for what he had done to Fíli but he could not turn his back on Thorin and leave him to suffer through Kíli's rejection alone. He knew just how much the lads meant to his king and knew just how deeply Kíli's glares had cut. Again, Dwalin felt that he and the youngest heir to the throne needed to have a little _discussion_ on proper ways to behave towards family as Fíli's lesson clearly hadn't taken.

"I'm sorry, Thorin," Balin said, his own pain at watching Thorin try to continue apparent in his voice and his eyes. "You _have_ to keep moving. I know this is difficult but—"

"What's the point?" Thorin demanded harshly, turning to glare at his cousin with pain and hopelessness in his eyes. "Why?" he asked in a quieter, defeated voice. "Why should I force myself to endure this? Tell me why, Balin."

"Because there are orcs coming, Thorin," Dwalin said simply. "We need to put some distance between them and us and _that_ means _you_ need to walk. Unless you've rethought your position on being carried."

"I can't bear to be touched," Thorin snarled turning on Dwalin with pain and anger in his eyes that his friend would suggest such a thing, especially when he was feeling so wounded and vulnerable, and attempting to cover up what he was feeling under the mask of the indignant king. Even he could hear that he lacked the steel necessary to make the ruse work. But he continued all the same. Perhaps if they believed it he could bring himself to believe it. If they were convinced perhaps he could convince himself that he was still in control. That he still knew what to do. That he wasn't entirely out of his depth. He allowed his feelings of being lost to feed into rage—attempting to push them away before they saw his weakness—and his next words came out much stronger, more like himself.

 "What in Durin's name makes you think I could bear to be carried?" Thorin demanded. "Besides, I am neither a child nor an invalid." The two brothers shared a look but did not argue with their King even though at the moment he _was_ an invalid. They could see just how much he needed to win this argument and could not be the ones to break what little of him was left. They knew that all it would take would be to call him on his invalid status and neither of them would be the one to do it.

"Then you need to walk," Dwalin said with a disinterested shrug. "You either walk or one of use carries you. Those are you options, Thorin. Pick one."

"You missed an option," Thorin countered bitterly. "You lot can go on without me. You'll stand a better chance of outrunning the orcs without me slowing you down. It's not like I'll be of any use in a fight anyway. I'm not of any use to anyone. You should leave me."

"We didn't miss one because that's not an option, lad," Balin said stubbornly. "You are our King and our kin. We won't abandon you."

"Some King I am," Thorin scoffed his mask slipping away to reveal the pain underneath again at the invocation of his status as both King and kin. "And some kin as well. I have failed them, just as I have _always_ failed my family. I can't even take care of _them_ , Balin. If I can't take care of two boys who am I to think that I can rule an entire people. No, it would be better if you leave me here and let Fíli rule. _He_ at least has sense. He won't allow his past mistakes to haunt him and cause him to ruin more lives. He would be a better King that I am."

"Thorin," Balin sighed exasperatedly. "We have had this conversation before, Cousin." It wasn't often that Balin evoked his familial relation to his king but he knew that this was one of those times that it was necessary. "You are not a bad King, Thorin. Or a bad Uncle. You have done well by our people and by those lads. You may have wronged Fíli but you were never cruel to him. He may not have had the same intimacy that you allowed Kíli or Dís but he knows that you do not hate him, Thorin. He has to. As you said, he has sense."

"They would beg to differ, Balin," Thorin said despondently. " _They_ think that I was cruel to him. And I agree. I _was_ cruel to him. It was cruel of me to give Kíli only love while I forced responsibilities on his young shoulders, just as my father and fate forced them on me. I did not even offer him support in shouldering them. I just piled them on him and when he did not fold under the pressure continued to add to them until I broke him. It wasn't the Goblin that broke him, Balin. It was me. I put too much pressure on him and he eventually shattered under the responsibilities. Responsibilities I never asked Kíli to even attempt to bear." For the first time Thorin realized that he had done Kíli an injustice as well through his favoritism. By sheltering him, Kíli had missed out on many of the life lessons that he would need if he was to rule. If Thorin and Fíli died . . . Kíli . . . he would be as out of his element as Thorin currently was. He didn't even know if Fíli and Kíli had realized that yet and a selfish part of him hoped that they never did. He flinched as Balin tapped his face to get his attention—thinking Thorin lost to memories once more.

"That is traditional, Thorin," Balin said, his tone making it clear that he had already said it more than once. "Elder siblings _always_ have more responsibilities. I had more responsibilities than Dwalin ever did. And with Fíli more so than most it would be true. Most older siblings do not also have to prepare to rule a kingdom in addition to keeping up with their siblings." _And most siblings are not as troublesome as Kíli_ , Balin added silently not wanting to say anything against Thorin's nephew with his King's current mood.

"Tradition does not make it right," Thorin argued darkly. "And even if it did, there was no cause for me to deny him love and affection while fostering heavy responsibilities on him. He . . . he is _starved_ for affection, Balin. You. . . you didn't see. All I had to do was touch him and he . . . his expression was so peaceful. So happy. It's wrong that he would cherish so little affection." Thorin paused and drew a shuddering breath as he thought of his nephew's peaceful face only moments later twisting in anger.

"And now they both hate me," Thorin said quietly. "And they have every right to. What I did to Fíli, even if I did not mean to do it . . . it is unforgivable. They will never forgive me for it and neither will their mother. I have lost them all, Balin. All of them. And what's worse is that I do not blame them for their hatred. They would be better off without me. I can only cause pain to those that I love. Frerin, Fíli . . . I blame neither of them for hating me or if Fíli wants me dead." He had closed his eyes at the pain of his revelation and was shocked when he felt a hand slip into his own. He opened his eyes to see Fíli looking at him with sad, gentle blue eyes.

"I-I don't hate you, Uncle," Fíli whispered shocked that Thorin believed that he did or that he ever could. Did his uncle not know him at all? "And I do _not_ want you dead so . . . let's keep going. Can you do it for Kíli?" Fíli saw pain the pain that washed across his uncle's face at the mention of his brother and changed tactics.

"Can you . . . can you do it for  . . . for . . . for _me_?" Fíli's question was hesitant, choked. He knew that he was asking too much of his uncle and that once more Thorin would reject him as he always had but . . . he also knew that he _had_ to try. He couldn't bear it if his uncle died and neither could Kíli. It was for them all that he did this. His uncle and brother needed him. He tried to hold his uncle's gaze as his heart beat nearly painfully against his ribcage while he waited for Thorin to reply. He felt relief flow through him as the pain in his uncle's eyes shifted to confusion before he nodded.

 Thorin's throat felt tight at Fíli's denial of his hatred and the simple, hesitant plea to live for him if for nothing else. Fíli didnt' hate him. Didn't want him dead. He swallowed hard, unable to stop the tears that filled his eyes at just how deeply he had wronged the sweet child before him and his amazement of just how gentle his nephew was still able to be with him. He could not stop them from forming but he was able to keep them from falling. He fought them because he knew now that Fíli needed him as much as he had realized that he needed Fíli. He knew that he needed to appear strong for his nephew.

For the first time since Kíli had glared at him, Thorin felt a smidgen of hope that this could be resolved but it quickly disappeared under pain and regret as he took in his heir: Fíli was afraid . . . of him. He could see the anxiety Fíli held from his question, even as his heir tried to hide it. It was there, in the tight set of his lips, the tension around his eyes, the way his chest rose and fell with the rapidness of a hare caught in a trap. Fíli was terrified of being rejected but he was still here, offering himself as a reason to live. Through the hope and sadness, confusion broke through. _Why_? It was the only thought that Thorin could bring to mind. _Even of Fíli does not hate me, surely he cannot love me._ **_Why_** _is he willing to face his own fears for the uncle that had failed him so greatly?_ The King had no answer for that question and banished it from his mind. For the time being, Fíli was there asking him to live for him and that was all that mattered. Fíli had not abandoned him. Not like Frerin. Not like Kíli. Fíli was still there.

"Aye, lad," Thorin agreed after far too long a pause, squeezing Fíli's hand and offering him a small smile and a nod. "I . . . I can do this. I can do this. For _you_." Fíli offered him a bright smile and a surprised laugh before he threaded his arm through Thorin's as Dwalin's was on the other side. He and Dwalin shared a look before the older warrior nodded and they set off once more. Fíli helping to support his uncle as they made their way through the forest.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Kíli watched in shock as Fíli walked to their uncle's side and threaded his arm through Thorin's. He watched as the tense, fearful expression on his brother's face shifted to a bright smile before settling on the same look of patient love Fíli gave him when Kíli was being ornery. He saw how Thorin's shoulders seemed to straighten at the sight of it. It confused Kíli. Why had his brother gone to their uncle? He had been so angry only moments before, surely it was Thorin that he was angry with. Why, then, had he abandoned Kíli to seek out the company of someone he was mad at? And why was he smiling?

The more he thought about it the less sense it made to him that Fíli would have gone to their uncle. He _knew_ his brother. Fíli was not the kind to seek out people he was cross with and confront them. He was the kind to go off on his own until he had calmed down enough to discuss it rationally on his own or was sought out and cornered by the one he was angry with and provoked to speaking his mind while his temper still burned hot. There was only one explanation that Kíli could find for his brother's move along the column: it was not Thorin that Fíli was angry with but rather Kíli. But that explanation only left him with another question: why?

Kíli could see no reason for Fíli to be angry with him. He had not broken his promise. He had stopped when Fíli had asked it of him even if all he had wanted to do was rebuke his uncle for what he had done to Fíli. He had restrained himself. He still couldn't understand why Fíli had stopped him either time. While it was true that the truth would hurt their uncle, Thorin had always taught them that avoidance was no way to prevent harm. He had always said that avoidance of confrontation in battle would lead to your death and that in life it would only lead to more complications. Complications that were best preempted before they could develop. That had been part of the reason he had been so supportive of Kíli's choice to specialize in archery.

He had said that it would be a good preemptive strategy that would save Kíli's life one day by thinning the field of enemies in battle before they were able to harm him. Though he was supportive, he _did_ insist that Kíli also develop skills in hand-to-hand for when arrows would be of no more use. If Kíli was still more proficient with arrows than axes, well . . . his skills _had_ been part of the thing that had convinced Thorin to allow him to come. Most of the dwarves—including Thorin himself—could shoot a bow but few of them had made an art of it or had the abilities and speed Kíli possessed and Thorin had said that Kíli's skills would ensure that the company had fresh meat on the trip. That was what Thorin had told him _before_ Goblin Town at any rate. With a grimace he wondered if his skills had even factored into his inclusion in the company or if it had all been his mother's influence over her brother that had allowed him to come.

With his new knowledge he wondered if his uncle had not attempted to leave him out of distaste or doubt of his skills but _because_ he was the favorite. Had his uncle wanted to leave him because he knew that there was a chance that something like what happened in Goblin Town would happen? He knew that his mother loved both him and his brother, but she had always favored Fíli. It hadn't been obvious—not a blatant as Thorin's favoritism of Kíli as neither of them had even wanted for her love—but Fíli had _always_ been able to push her just a little father than Kíli could. Ask questions of her that Kíli couldn't. Was it possible that she _knew_ that their uncle favored Kíli and had wanted to punish her brother for risking the life of her favorite son by making him risk the life of his favorite nephew?

He quickly rejected that idea. His mother was many things, spiteful was not one of them. Nor would she risk his life to get even with her brother. There was no real strife between her and his uncle and even if there was, she would never have risked his and Fíli's lives just to prove a point to her brother. No, she had insisted he come for his own good, not out of some cruel desire to punish his uncle. She had insisted that he come because as an heir to the throne he _had_ to. Too many things had changed in the past couple of days and Kíli could not bear for his understanding of his mother to be one of them.

 Even so, the doubt persisted. He wondered how he could be sure of her motivations when he was no longer sure of anything else. He would never have believed that their uncle could have treated Fíli with such coldness until it was revealed to him or that Fíli could _ever_ attack him with a knife, no matter what he did to deserve it, or that he could turn on his brother as he had. If he had been so wrong about himself, Fíli and his uncle was it possible that he was wrong about his mother as well? The doubts ate at him. Everything that he had always known to be true about himself and his family was crumbling around him. He felt panic begin to well within him as he realized that he wasn't sure of anything anymore. Everything had changed and nothing made sense to him anymore. Not his uncle. Not his brother. Not even himself.

 Lost in the eddying flow that was his own confusion and broken illusions of himself and his family Kíli found one thing to cling to. One thing that was solid, even if it was as unfamiliar as everything around him: hatred. Hatred, _true_ hatred, was something else that Kíli had only discovered in the last couple of days and it was at least something that he could understand. True, it pulsed and ebbed and flowed but it was steady, constant in a way that nothing else was at the moment. He had first found it when he looked on the Great Goblin and with his death it had sunk back under everything else with the emotions that rose up in the events that followed but now . . . now—with everything spiraling out of control once more—he found it again.

As new and foreign as it was to the young dwarf, it was the only thing that he felt as if he was familiar with. So he clung to it and as he watched his brother smiling contentedly at the dwarf that was responsible for all of their pain, suffering and for ruining everything, he felt that he found where it should have been directed all along: not at the Goblin—who had only behaved as goblins do, after all—but at his uncle who had put them in this position in the first place. This, all of it— Fíli's insecurities, Kíli's confusion and pain— it could all be traced back to Thorin. It was all his fault and Kíli hated him for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I . . . I have nothing to say for myself so . . . I'll just go back over here, ok?
> 
> And for anyone curious about the outcome of the vote, we're doing the once (or twice) a week thing :)


	22. A Rest, Braids and Jealousy

The company continued to travel until the sun was at its zenith. Only then did Thorin allow them to stop at Fíli's request and Dwalin's insistence. Thorin had been doing his best but . . . he was weary. One short night resting against a tree would never be enough to heal the hurts he had suffered. It was not even the preponderance of the wounds that was the issue but the depth of some of them. Fíli had cut quite deeply and severed more muscles that Thorin had originally realized and there were weaknesses that were making themselves known that had nothing to do with blood loss. He was especially having difficulty taking deep breaths. Not only did it pull at the cauterized wounds but the muscle strength to expand his chest was just not there.

He understood why the lads had focused their attention where they had, with his ribs between them and vital organs such wounds were less likely to kill him, but he wished they would have distributed things a bit more evenly. At least if they had, resting would aid him. As it was . . . he always had to breathe. That was why he was reluctant to let them stop. He would be only moderately more comfortable resting as he would be walking and if they stopped, he ran the risk of his muscles cooling off once more and making resuming travel all the  more difficult. And then he tripped and the only things holding him up was Dwalin's arm on his own and the arm Fíli threw around his chest.

While he was grateful to Fíli for keeping him from falling, his nephew's arm managed to hit more than one of his wounds and Fíli's grasping fingers dug into one of the cauterizations shooting a line of fire along his side and causing the King's breath to leave him in a hiss before he began growling out vicious swearwords in both Khuzdul and the common tongue as he clung to Fíli while his limbs shuddered from the new wave of pain.

"I am so sorry, Uncle," Fíli said desperately. "I . . .I just couldn't let you—"

"I'm fine, Fíli," Thorin  gasped. "I'm fine, lad. Just . . . give me a moment before you move. Please."

"Of course, Uncle," Fíli replied obediently. There was a brief pause before Fíli decided to try his luck one more time. He knew that his uncle needed to rest but that he was unwilling to do so. Thorin had always responded well to logic and Fíli had thought of a decent argument to get his uncle to take a short break and catch his breath. And what he had heard his uncle say to Balin he thought that he might stand a chance of getting his uncle to listen to him.

"Uncle," Fíli said hesitantly, waiting for Thorin's eyes to open and look at him before he continued, "are you sure you don't need a rest? Just a short one? It wouldn't just be for you either. I know that I would not say no to a short break. I . . . I didn't sleep well. And . . . and I'm sure that everyone is hungry. We did skip breakfast, Uncle.  I think that we would all benefit from a small breather. Just a short one."

Thorin sighed trying to think of a way to explain to his nephew why he was driving them so hard. How did he explain to Fíli the true horror of what was pursuing them? How could he tell his nephew that even a short break could result in all of their deaths? That he was terrified of losing Fíli and Kíli as he had lost Frerin? He hated to reject Fíli's suggestion when he could see just how much it had cost the lad to make it but he also could not allow a break.

 "Fíli, lad," Thorin said wearily, "I am sorry to force this on you. We cannot risk a rest. There should be some food in my pack that you can eat while we walk if you can find it. It's only cram, and not particularly good cram, and I don't know who has it, but if you can find it, it's yours. As to your fatigue. I'm afraid that it will only grow worse, Fíli. We will only have a short rest tonight. We . . . we cannot fight an orc pack. Not in our current situation. Our only hope is to avoid them. I am so sorry, Fíli."

"It won't do us any good to outrun them if we run ourselves to death, Thorin," Dwalin countered. "You know as well as I do that we will most likely not outrun them. Not at this pace. They _will_ catch us, Thorin. And you know it. When they do it will go worse for us if we are too tired and hungry to fight. Even if you don't need one, I do. As do many of the rest of us. We've been at this all day, Thorin. It is time to give them a break."

Thorin sighed in frustration. He felt as if they had trapped him. He knew that if he could just _think_ he could counter them, but with the pain washing through his body he could not do it. All he could see is that they both had valid points. The company had only had a few hours of sleep the night before. They were tired, hungry . . . they _needed_ a break especially if they were to have any chance of fighting when the orcs _did_ catch them—which Dwalin was correct in saying was inevitable. His own fears to the contrary, Thorin could not deny them this. Their needs had to come before his fears. It was a lesson he had learned the hard way but one that he had no intention of forgetting.

"Give the order," he whispered to Balin. "Tell them that we're breaking for lunch. Those not involved in active food preparation should attempt to get a bit of shut-eye." Balin nodded and gave the order to stop.

"Come, Uncle," Fíli said shifting his hold on Thorin so that he could walk, "There's a tree over there with your name on it." Once they reached it, Dwalin and Fíli carefully lowered Thorin to the ground where he leaned against the tree with a sigh. His eyes drifted closed as he willed himself to relax, despite his fear and pain. Fíli stared down at him for a moment before he sighed sadly and began to walk away. Thorin heard his nephew move away and felt panic seize him at the thought that Fíli was going to leave him now that his presence was not absolutely necessary. Fíli has stayed just as long as he felt that he had to and now he was leaving. With his heart hammering in his chest, his eyes flew open.

"Where are you going, Fíli," Thorin asked his fear of his nephew leaving him making his voice sharp. Thorin regretted his tone  instantly when Fíli flinched.

"I . . . I was going get you some water, Uncle," Fíli replied shakily. He had known that his uncle was going to be angry with him for backing him into a corner the way he had with his reasoning for why they had to stop. His uncle might think that he had sense but that didn't mean that he was supposed to use it against Thorin. And that wasn't all he had done. He had also admitted his own weaknesses. Of course his uncle was angry with him. What kind of dwarf couldn't go one night without sleep? None of the others were having near the trouble he was. Not even Kíli. Kíli hadn't admitted to being tired.

"I don't need water, lad," Thorin replied gently, his eyes soft with remorse for upsetting Fíli with his tone and his own insecurities yet again. He extended a hand palm up as a sign of peace and tried to coax his skittish nephew back to him."Come, sit with me. That order to rest did not exclude you. You may be my heir but you need your rest as well, Fíli."

"Yes, Uncle," Fíli replied moving back to Thorin's side and sitting awkwardly beside him against the tree. His eyes had just drifted closed when he felt a tentative hand touch his hair. He gave a start and opened his eyes to see Thorin looking at him, one of Fíli's braids in his hands and a wry smile on his face.

"They're a bit messy, lad," Thorin said quietly, his eyes still gentle as he surveyed his disheveled nephew. "I don't know that I have ever seen them quite this mussed." He instantly regreted his words when he saw Fíli's face close off from him once more before the shame filled his eyes and he looked away. Thorin gave a frustrated sigh as he wondered just how horrible of an uncle he had been that Fíli did not even recognize it when he was joking with him.

"I haven't had time to redo them, Uncle," Fíli replied, looking away from Thorin's eyes as shame flooding his veins that his uncle had commented on his distended braids. Shame that only intensified as his uncle sighed in frustration. He had been so careful to keep them up ever since Thorin had decided that it was time that he wore them. He had redone them ever morning since he was a child hoping that if they were perfect perhaps they would please his uncle and that maybe if he was pleased things could go back to how they had been. It never worked.

"And even if I had," Fíli continued knowing that time alone was not an acceptable excuse for shaming the line of Durin, "I can't braid with a broken hand. I couldn't even tie a knot. Braiding is beyond me at the moment. I . . . I will . . . I'll fix them as soon as I am able. I'm sorry that you and the others have to see me so . . . so . . . " Fíli could not think of an appropriate word to describe just how sloppy he knew he had to look at the moment. He _had_ to be shaming both his uncle and the line of Durin. Thorin would never forgive him for it.

"Hush, Fíli," Thorin said gently, releasing the braid and placing his hand on Fíli's shoulder instead. "I did not mean to upset you. Calm yourself. I was not criticizing you. I . . . I was going to . . . never mind, lad. Go back to your nap." Fíli eyed him in confusion as Thorin shifted his eyes away from Fíli's face in what almost looked like shame. His uncle hadn't been critiquing his appearance?  Why had he commented on Fíli's braids then?

"What were you going to say, Uncle?" Fíli asked in curiosity. "I'll listen. I promise." He wondered if his uncle would speak again. Before he would have said that it would never happen but this open, fragile version of his uncle confused him. He'd never seen his uncle like this, so hesitant and apologetic, even with Kíli or his mother. He had never heard his uncle say _anything_ like what he had said to Balin earlier. He had been unaware that his uncle had doubts or regrets about anything, let alone himself.

"I . . . I was going to . . . well that is to say," Thorin paused and took as deep a breath as he was capable of before he continued in a rush. "I was going to offer to redo them for you but I know that you will not allow me such an intimacy. You do not have to refuse. I will not force that on you." Fíli blinked at his uncle owlishly. Thorin had _never_ offered to braid his hair. Never. Not even when he had been a child. If his uncle ever did anyone's hair it was his mother or Kíli's. Never Fíli's.

"You . . . want to . . . you want to braid my hair?" Fíli breathed in shock.

"Forget I said anything," Thorin replied harshly, turning his face away from his nephew. "I know that it is an overstepping of our relationship. I know that I am not worthy to do your hair. Not after what I have done to you but . . . I thought that it _might_ serve as the beginning of my apology to you. A promise that I will make an active effort to . . . forget it."

"You want to braid my hair." Fíli repeated his question as a statement. His tone confused Thorin. He didn't sound angry and he glanced at Fíli to see that his nephew was still shocked by what he was saying. He hadn't meant to shock Fíli either. It seemed that he had no idea how to interact with his nephew without causing them both pain.

"Forget it, lad," Thorin repeated, steel in his voice and pain in his eyes. "I know that you will never allow it. I should never have suggested it. I apologize for overstepping my rights."

"No, Uncle," Fíli replied stubbornly. "I won't forget it. I'll _never_ forget it." Thorin sighed and looked away knowing that he had made _another_ mistake and pushed his nephew even further from him by trying too hard to make things right between them. The sound of a metallic click drew his attention back to his nephew in time to see Fíli undoing one of his braids with his left hand.

"Fíli?" Thorin breathed, shocked at his nephew's actions. Surely Fíli did not intend to allow him to do it. There was no way that Fíli would allow him such an intimacy. Not after everything he had done. Rather than say anything, Fíli unclipped a second braid and unraveled it as well. The third and fourth soon followed. Thorin watched in shock as Fíli dug in his pack and produced a comb which he then pressed into Thorin's hand along with his clasps, a gentle pleading in his blue eyes. Thorin closed his hand around the little silver clasps. Clasps that Dís had made for him. A job that Thorin should have done himself just as he had made Kíli's.

"Are you sure, Fíli?" Thorin asked emotion choking his voice as he looked at his nephew kneeling beside him with his golden hair tumbling free around his face as Thoin had not seen it since he was a small child. It made Fíli look even younger than he was.

"I'm sure," Fíli replied, his voice quiet but firm. He waited until Thorin nodded before he lowered himself to the ground and placed his head on Thorin's thigh so that his uncle could fix his hair without putting too much strain on his shoulders.

With hands that shook, Thorin gathered Fíli's golden hair—so much lighter and softer than his own— in his right hand and began working through the knots with the comb in his left. He couldn't see Fíli's face but he could see from the steady way that his nephew's chest rose and fell that Fíli was content and relaxed. Under his skilled hands the tangles slowly became liquid gold. Once all the knots were clear, Thorin began to section the hair to form Fíli's signature plaints. In no time at all, he had both of the braids back in place.

"Fíli," Thorin said quietly. "I need you to roll over so I can do the other side." The only reply Thorin received was a quiet snore. He smiled affectionately at the grown dwarfling asleep in his lap before leaning against the tree to attempt a nap of his own, his fingers still tangled in Fíli's golden hair. Neither of them noticing the commotion that was going on just on the other side of camp.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Kíli watched in shock as his brother undid his braids. He had never seen Fíli undo his braids in front of anyone other than himself. Not since their mother had quit doing them. The only one to see Fíli with his hair loose had been Kíli. And now Fíli was letting their uncle see. Kíli's shock turned to confusion as he saw his brother dig his comb from his pack and press it into their uncle's hand before laying himself on the ground with his head in their uncle's lap. Surely Fíli didn't intend to let Thorin braid his hair.

Kíli felt shock and anger wash through his body as their uncle's hands tangled in his brother's hair. He wasn't sure if Fíli had asked or Thorin had offered but it did not matter to him. This was wrong. He couldn't understand how Fíli could allow their uncle to touch him in such a way after everything Thorin had done to him. He knew that Thorin had to be responsible for this. He had manipulated Fíli somehow. Fíli would do anything for a scrap of his love. What he saw before him disgusted Kíli.

He didn't care if his uncle wanted Fíli for a favorite. His brother deserved love but to go about offering him love in such a public fashion. It seemed more to Kíli like a ploy to make the others believe that Throin loved both of his nephews equally than it felt like an actual display of affection and the fact that Thorin would use Fíli like that made his blood boil.

With an angry snort Kíli was on his feet once more and moving towards them. Promise to Fíli or no he could not allow this manipulative behavior to continue. If Fíli would not speak for himself Kíli would do it for him.  

"Kíli?" Bilbo asked as the angry dwarf stormed past him. "Where are you going? You're supposed to be helping Bofur to cut the—"

"I need to talk to my _family_ ," Kíli snarled. Bilbo looked around in shock wondering what had angered Kíli so and saw Thorin and Fíli sitting below the tree. Bilbo had to smile. They both looked more peaceful than he had seen them in days. That only confused him more. Why was Kíli so angry? Was he still so cross with Fíli that he would be angry that his brother was receiving a bit of peace?

"Hold up, lad," Dwalin said stepping into his path. "Leave them in peace for a bit. They have things they need to work out just the two of them."

"I can't do that, Dwalin," Kíli argued, glaring up at the larger warrior. "Fíli needs me and Uncle and I have things that we need to discuss as well."

"I think you have said more than enough to your uncle, Kíli," Dwalin countered his tone cold. "Even if you didn't say a word you hurt him. Deeply. You nearly broke him, Kíli. I have never seen your uncle so deeply wounded. You did that to him, Kíli."

"I can't've," Kíli countered. "I didn't even say a word to him. Now let me by."

"No," Dwalin replied. "You are not going over there, lad. Not until you and I have had a little chat."

"Fine," Kíli snapped. "Talk. Then get out of my way."

"Not here, lad," Dwalin said with a shake of his head. "Over there. In private."

"I don't have time for this," Kíli grumbled attempting to side-step Dwalin only to find his path blocked by the large dwarf. "Just let me by!"

"Not this time, Kíli," Dwalin said with a shake of his head. "Neither of them needs you. Not at the moment."

"How do you know what they need?" Kíli demanded. "They're _my_ family!"

"And you have a funny way of showing it!" Dwalin roared before he composed himself once more and continued in a calmer voice. "Now come with me. We're not doing this here."

"And I'm not moving!" Kíli yelled. "If you want to talk to me we can do it right here! I do not intend to move from this spot unless it is to go forward." Dwalin eyed him speculatively and, for a moment, Kíli smirked as he believed that he had won this argument but then the large dwarf surged forward and before Kíli knew what happened he was slung over Dwalin's shoulder like a sack of grain, his head hanging down the larger dwarf's back. His wounds protested his rough treatment and he was ashamed of himself as a cry rose up his throat before he began to beg.

"Ow! Please, Dwalin, it hurts," Kíli protested. "I . . . this hurts! Please put me down. I'll walk. I swear it!"

"You had your chance, Kíli," Dwalin said simply, his heart clinching at the small cries of pain coming from the nearly grown dwarfling slung over his shoulder. "You chose to behave like a child so I am treating you like one. In fact, for what you've done I'd like nothing better than to put you over my knee like a dwarfling. You're lucky I'm not your father or I would even if you _are_ nearly grown. Though I will admit that if your mother ever finds out what you have done to your brother and your uncle I wouldn't put it past _her_." Kíli paled at the mention of his mother. She was going to be furious with him for what he had done to his brother and let her own do to Fíli.

"Should we. . . " Bilbo began gesturing after the two dwarves that were leaving camp. Bofur, Bombur and Balin all looked at him quizzically wondering what he was talking about. "Shouldn't we . . . I don't know . . . go after them? Dwalin seemed quite irritated with Kíli and —"

"Kíli will be fine," Bofur said with a laugh. "Dwalin won't hurt him. May yell a bit but . . . Kíli'll survive it."

"But . . . Dwalin is so _big!_ " Bilbo protested. "Surely Kíli—"

"Is in no danger," Balin cut in with a laugh. He had to smile at just how well his brother had gotten his bluff in on the hobbit. "Dwalin . . . he may be a formidable warrior but outside of battle . . . don't tell him I said this but . . . he's little more dangerous than a kitten. _Especially_ where either of those boys is concerned. Don't worry, laddie. More likely than not they won't even exchange blows." Bilbo watched as Dwalin hauled Kíli into the woods, his disbelief clear on his face. He could only hope that Balin was right about his brother. He didn't see where Dwalin beating Kíli would do anyone any good.


	23. A Heated Discussion and More Revelations

Despite Dwalin's threat, he had no intention of beating Kíli. Once he deemed that they were far enough from camp that their voices would not carry, he gently set the young heir on his feet before backing away a few paces to allow him some space. His heart ached at the way Kíli glared at him, betrayal and pain clear in his brown eyes as the lad wrapped his arms protectively around himself.

"I'm sorry I hurt you, lad," Dwalin sighed. "But I had to get you out of camp. The others didn't need to see this. They don't need to see their King and his heirs fighting amongst themselves. They also don't need to see the youngest heir getting lectured by his older cousin."

"So you intend to lecture me?" Kíli snapped his glare only intensifying. "What about?"

"About your treatment of your brother and uncle," Dwalin said as if Kíli was being intentionally dense. What else did Kíli think that Dwalin had hauled him out of camp for, just as he was about to interpose himself in his brother and uncle's affairs? Was Kíli truly so foolish?

"I can't see where that's any of you business, Dwalin," Kíli replied coolly, his icy tone in direct contrast to the anger still burning in his eyes. "They're _my_ family."

"They're my family as well, lad," Dwalin replied sternly even if he had needed to do a bit of a double take to see if it was Kíli or Thorin he was talking to. He had never realized just how much the youngest heir had in common with his uncle before that moment. He found himself wising that Kíli would have picked a different one of Thorin's traits to emulate.

 "And even if they were not . . . you can't treat people they way you have treated those two, Kíli," Dwalin continued. "They _love_ you. I know that this may not make sense to you, you're very young yet, but . . . love, like what those two have for you . . . it's a rare thing, lad. You shouldn't cast it away so easily."

"Easily!" Kíli scoffed gesturing back in the directions of the Blue Mountains. "Do you have _any_ idea what he did?"

"Aye," Dwalin replied harshly not sure if Kíli was talking about Fíli or Thorin but not caring either way, "he saved your life and you turned on him for it." They had both saved his life and no matter what he thought they had done to deserve his ire, that fact could not be ignored. His brother had sacrificed his peace of mind and his uncle his body all for Kíli's sake. Even if Thorin would survive his wounds, his life was still in jeopardy and Kíli had turned on him. The thought of it enraged Dwalin. Thorin had _never_ done anything to Kíli to merit such anger. Nor had Fíli for that matter before yesterday.

"What?" Kíli breathed in confusion. He was talking about his uncle. How had he turned on his uncle for saving his life? He knew that the situation in the goblin caves had been dire, but Gandalf arrived fairly quickly. He knew that Thorin had saved him from pain but he wouldn't have died. And that was irrelevant in light of what he had done to Fíli. Saving one life did not absolve him of destroying another, especially when part of the breaking was done in the act of saving.

"Aye. He saved your life," Dwalin repeated. "If Fíli hadn't done what he did you would either be in the same state as your uncle, worse off, or dead. You could have _died,_ Kíli. The goblins would not have showed you the same mercy that you and Fíli showed Thorin. They would not have avoided fatal wounds. Painfully fatal wounds. And if they _did_ avoid the fatal ones, they would have still been _permanently_ crippling. Fíli saved your life and you . . . that was _beyond_ cold, Kíli. I have _never_ been so _ashamed_ of you in your entire life. What made you do it, lad?"

"It was a misunderstanding," Kíli replied sadly, temporarily shocked out of his anger by Dwalin's certainty that he would be dead or crippled if not for Fíli and his uncle. He was humbled once more by  his uncle and Fíli's sacrifice for his sake. "I . . . I can't explain why I did it. There's no reason that would make it acceptable even if I tried. I _should_ have known better than to think that Fíli would ever do something like that for no reason. I should have known." The last words were a desperate cry that made Dwalin's heart go out to the confused young dwarf before him.

"You should have," Dwalin agreed a little gentler now that Kíli was admitting to his own mistakes. "I don't understand how you couldn't see what was going on, Kíli. How you could believe your brother was capable of such cruelty. I thought you knew Fíli better than that, lad."

"I do!" Kíli protested desperately, his brown eyes begging Dwalin to understand. "I did! I know my brother!" _Do you really?_ a part of his mind asked. _You claim to know him but not only did you turn on him when he was saving your life but you failed to notice as he was neglected for **seventy** years. He hid it from you for seventy years. If he could hide something like that, how well can you really say that you know him? Did you think that any part of him was capable of harming you? He did that._

"Do you now?" Dwalin asked a hint of sarcasm in his tone, unknowingly echoing Kíli's own mind. "If you know him so well why did you disown him for his desire to do whatever it took to see you safe. Was it because you love your uncle more than you love your brother?"

"I _don't_ love my uncle," Kíli snarled viciously as Dwalin brought up the object of his hatred and attempted to compare it to the love he had for his wronged brother. "Not anymore. Not after what he did to Fíli."

"He didn't force that choice on your brother, Kíli," Dwalin snapped back feeling the need to protect Thorin from baseless accusations as he realized that it wasn't Fíli that Kíli blamed for the situation any more. He now blamed Thorin for what he had blamed Fíli for only yesterday. Dwalin had to bite back a frustrated sigh. He couldn't keep up with the shifting relationships between Thorin and his heirs.

" _Fíli_ made the choice to save you and Thorin merely supported it," Dwalin reminded him firmly.  " _Fíli_ chose it, Kíli. Thorin forced _nothing_ on him. Not to say that Thorin wouldn't have made the same decision on his own but he did not force it on your brother." He took one look at Kíli's hard eyes and the sneer marring his young face and sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "You're not talking about the caves, are you, lad?" The question was softer, gentler than any other that Dwalin had directed at him since he had carried him from camp and Kíli started at the abrupt change. He eyed his older cousin carefully, taking in Dwalin's sad eyes and defeated expression.

"You knew," Kíli breathed feeling betrayal beginning to creep into the edges of his mind and the hatred he felt for his uncle beginning to shift and morph so that it could encompass any who had known and done nothing.

"All this time you _knew_ what my uncle was doing to Fíli, didn't you?" Kíli demanded  his voice rising and his eyes wild. Dwalin flinched as he watched the confusion in Kíli's eyes morph to understanding before anger rose up in their brown depths. This was not going at all like the warrior had anticipated. Kíli was far angrier than he had believed over far less petty a thing and far more shrewd that he had ever realized. For the first time he wondered if Fíli truly was the most intelligent of Dís' children. He wondered if they had all underestimated Kíli.

"Now, Kíli," Dwalin began placatingly, trying to calm the irate dwarf in front of him before Kíli exploded and did something they would both regret. He doubted that Thorin would offer him the same clemency he had give Fíli the day before after Kíli's actions that morning. Especially when Dwalin could easily overpower him so even if they both said that he had not meant to kill him—which he wasn't sure that Kíli _could_ say in his present mood—no one would believe that Kíli had backed down on his own. "What you need to understand—"

"What is there for me to understand?!" Kíli demanded harshly. "Uncle neglected my brother. There is no explanation for that. Who else knows about this?!"

"If you'll just _listen_ , Kíli," Dwalin said firmly reaching forward to grasp Kíli's upper arms only to be cut off by an angry noise from the young dwarf. Kíli glared angrily up at him as he spoke in a voice Dwalin had never heard from him before. He hadn't know that Kíli was capable of such anger and hatred.

"I don't want to listen unless you intend to tell me how so many of you could let this go on for _seventy_ years!" Kíli hissed, too angry for volume as he discovered that at least Dwalin had known what his uncle had done to his brother. "Who else knows? Balin? My mother? Who?" Dwalin sighed and looked at Kíli, standing there with his brown eyes burning with furry that was beginning to border on bloodlust and knew that he could not lie to him. Kíli would smell a lie a league away in his present mood. And even if he could not, Dwalin couldn't bring himself to lie to Kíli. Not about this. Even though he knew that it might bring Kíli to hate him, he could not do it. There had been too much deceit and silence where this was concerned. But he also knew that Kíli's rage would not be helped with the truth. In fact, this might be about to make things worse.

"Everyone knows, Kíli," Dwalin whispered dejectedly. "We all knew. Everyone except Thorin. And you. But, Kíli, he never realized what he was doing until Balin challenged him about it yesterday. He . . . he didn't know, lad. Your uncle . . . there is something you need to know about Thorin—"

"I don't want to know anything about him!" Kíli yelled breaking free from Dwalin's limp hold to begin pacing angrily. "I don't want anything to do with him. Not if he could do something like that to his heir. His nephew. His own kin. His own _blood_. He treated Fíli like he was nothing!"

"Like you did?" Dwalin asked harshly trying to break through the hatred and bring back the remorseful dwarfling he had been speaking to only moments before. He knew that his words would hurt Kíli but he couldn't let him continue down this path. He had seen where this led and it was nowhere good. Thorin had reacted the same way after Frerin's death and had turned on Thráin just as Kíli was now turning on Thorin, needing someone to blame for the loss of his brother and then when Thráin had disappeared . . . Thorin had been devastated. He had said more than once that his father had only left because of his treatment of him. He also saw himself as responsible for Thráin's death. Dwalin didn't even know if Dís knew about that fight. He didn't know if Thorin ever told his sister just what he had said to their father the night they found Frerin. Somehow he doubted it.

Dwalin shook himself out of the memory of the fight he had witnessed all those years ago and turned his full attention back to Kíli. He had said nothing when Thorin turned on Thráin because he secretly believed that Thráin was responsible as well but . . . well no one had died this time and Thorin was attempting to make amends and Dwalin would be damned if he let Kíli lose himself to the same cycle of hatred that had claimed his uncle. If he had to hurt Kíli to keep him from becoming as cold and bitter and filled with shame and guilt as Thorin, so be it. Especially when the loss of Thorin was a very real possibility with what was pursuing them: wounded warriors rarely survived battle, especially not pitched ones. He would not allow Kíli to blame himself for Thorin's death if it did occur.

So rather than stop, he twisted the knife and cruelly taunted the boy saying, "Because you show _such_ familial solidarity, don't you, Kíli?"

"That's different," Kíli snapped his expression rapidly becoming unsure and defensive as he was reminded yet again of his abysmal treatment of his brother.

"How?" Dwalin demanded. "How is what you did any different? Yes, Thorin was cold to him while he was warm with you but he _never_ disowned him. Fíli was given the same rights in society that you were, even if he was denied the warmth of Thorin's love. And he was at least consistent. Fíli knows what to expect from him but _you_ ; Kíli, how many moods have you gone through in two days? I myself have seen a devoted nephew change to a hateful _brat_ for a slight not even against him that the one it _was_ against is more forgiving of. I've seen a devoted brother switch to a condemning one back to a devoted one in a matter of hours. I see why Fíli did what he did yesterday. Now, I'm not saying that Fíli was right to cut you, because he wasn't, but—"

"I know I deserved it," Kíli replied sadly. "I know that he had every right to seek vengeance on me. Just as I have rights to seek vengeance on my uncle on his behalf as he won't!" Kíli's mood swung once more as he tried to work through his chaotic feelings on his uncle and brother. "I don't care if he _is_ a king, Uncle can't treat people this way!"

"And neither can _you_ ," Dwalin said, trying to keep up with Kíli's train of though and reason with him. "You said earlier that Fíli needs you, and he does. He needs a loving brother who is there for him when _he_ is ready to talk, but so does Thorin. Thorin _needs_ a loving nephew. _Two_ of them. Fíli sees that. I know that you are mad and want to stand by your brother, but at the moment, I would almost say that Thorin needs you a good deal more than Fíli does."

"Have you seen Fíli lately, Dwalin?" Kíli demanded. "He _needs_ me. I've never seen him like this. So tentative so," Kíli paused and bit his lip looking away from Dwalin. When he looked back, there were tears in his eyes, "I _broke_ him, Dwalin. I . .. I can't abandon him. Not now. He _needs_ me, can't you see that?!"

"No he doesn't, lad," Dwalin said sadly. " _You_ need him, just as you always have. _You_ need him to need you so that you don't feel worthless. But, Kíli, Fíli _does_ _not_ need you at the moment. He needs space. You say that you know your brother, tell me this: has he had time to sort through his feelings well enough to deal with you just yet? I saw the two of you in the clearing earlier today when you turned on Thorin. You say that _Fíli_ needs _you_ but _you_ were the one clinging to _him_ , not he to you. _You_ are the one that needs him."

"No," Kíli breathed, his face crumpling at the thought that his brother didn't need him. "No! You're wrong! Fíli needs me!" He began to panic slightly as he realized that Dwalin was right. Fíli didn't need him. He replayed all of their interactions the past couple of days in his mind and realized that not once had Fíli actually sought him out. He had been the one to seek out Fíli. After the third time he had denounced Fíli in the caves, Fíli had quit seeking him out and had actually begged him to leave him be.

"No," Dwalin repeated. "He doesn't need you. Not right now."

"If not me then who?" Kíli asked, accidentally echoing his words to Fíli the day before. Dwalin just sighed and said nothing, but he didn't need to. Fíli's words from the day before echoed in his mind.

_“Anyone else,” Fíli snapped. “I don’t want to see you, let alone talk to you. You betrayed my trust. Broke my heart. You have no right to speak to me let alone ask me to speak to you. You disowned me, remember? You can’t take something like that back, Kíli. Now go away!”_

"No," Kíli moaned, sinking to his knees and fighting against the urge to cry once more. He was done crying and this was a pain beyond that at any rate. Dwalin was right. Fíli did not need him.

"No," Kíli moaned again, fisting his hands in his hair in an attempt to stave off the realization that was pressing in on him. Fíli did not need him. Suddenly his brother's angry eyes from just a bit earlier flashed through his mind and for a moment he couldn't breathe as he realized that not only did Fíli not _need_ him, he didn't _want_ him. At all. Fíli hated him. Hated him for hating their uncle.

"No," Kíli breathed as the full implications of his actions hit him. He tried to curl in on himself on the ground despite the protests of his wounds at the stretching of his spine. He ignored it as he tried to feel a bit less alone. As he knelt there, curled into a ball his anger and hatred left him and he suddenly felt very cold as he realized that in two days he had lost his entire family. Fíli hated him, his uncle would never forgive him and his mother . . . he had lost her as well. There was no way that she could—should—love someone capable of what he had done. He was alone. For the first time in his life, Kíli was alone and he found that he did not like the feeling. Not at all.


	24. A Desperate Plea and a Painful Confession

Back at camp, Thorin awoke with a start as he felt something touch him. A start that ended in a moan of pain as his wounds protested the sudden movement.

"I'm sorry," Bilbo whispered as he watched the dwarf king battle back his pain once more. "I didn't mean to startle you. I . . . I said your name a few times and you didn't respond so I—"

"It is fine, Halfling," Thorin said once he was able, though there was still pain in his tone and the set of his jaw as he surveyed the hobbit that was standing beside him, noticing that Bilbo had two bowls of food in his hands.

"Are those for us?" Thorin asked nodding at the bowls. Bilbo nodded with a small smile.

"Balin asked me to bring them to you," Bilbo said brightly. "Seemed reluctant to do it himself, actually. He probably didn't want to wake you. Do . . . where do you want me to . . . "

"Anywhere you wish," Thorin replied. "I _would_ appreciate it if you would leave them within reach and preferably not where Fíli might kick them over when I wake him. I doubt there is anything to replace them and Fíli said he was hungry."

"It's not Fíli you have to worry about kicking things over when you wake him," Bilbo said wrinkling his nose at the memory of Kíli's squirming the night before and his reaction to being woken even on a good day. After a very painful boot to the shin from Kíli, Bilbo had taken to throwing things at the brothers from a distance when it was his turn to wake them. "It's Kíli. That dwarf! There have been times I just wanted to—" the hobbit cut himself off as he saw the dark expression on Thorin's face and quickly backpedaled. "Not to say that I would have _ever_ raised a hand to your nephew! I wouldn't! I-I'm actually rather fond of both of them it's just that—"

"Kíli can be a bit of a handful," Thorin replied sadly, endeavoring to reassure the hobbit. It was not Bilbo that he was upset with. It was himself. How was it possible that the _hobbit_ —who had known them for a few scant months—could know more about Fíli than he did? How did he not know that Fíli still woke as calmly as he had as a child even on the road? That unpleasant discovery combined with the pain that he felt at hearing Kíli's name after what had just passed between them and soured his mood even further.

"I know that he is difficult to tolerate at times," Thorin said with a fond, nostalgic smile. "I helped to raise them." _Him_ , he mentally corrected, _I helped to raise Kíli but not Fíli. Dís raised Fíli alone._ "Kíli can be rather . . . trying. If he ever _does_ get to be too much, I would not fault you for smacking him upside the head. It might even do him some good. I would only fear that you would injure yourself in the process. We dwarves are rather thick headed after all." He ran a hand through Fíli's golden hair, his own words echoing in his ears. He knew that their people—his family especially—were quite obstinate. He was unsure just how long Fíli would allow this closeness between them before he pushed Thorin away again and had no intention of letting a moment of it go to waste. Especially not when it might be the last closeness any of his family ever allowed again. 

Bilbo watched for only a moment as the tender, vulnerable emotions crossed Thorin's face before he placed the bowls silently on the ground and walked away as quietly as he could. He felt that he was intruding on something intimate that was not meant for him to see. He now understood why Balin had been unwilling to bring food to them. Even so, he could not help the content smile that spread across his face at seeing that Thorin was not nearly as cold as he pretended to be. He felt that it was good to see a more human side of the dwarf king, even if it was reserved for his dear sister-sons. They deserved nothing but happiness after the last few days of chaos.

"What's got a smile on your face," Bofur asked as Bilbo walked up and sat down beside him. "I could use a smile after the last couple of days." Bilbo said nothing and shook his head, his peaceful smile not faltering. He did not feel that it was his to share as it had not been his to see in the first place.

"Since when is smiling for no reason against the rules?" Bilbo replied sarcastically nudging the dwarf with his shoulder. "I don't recall that being a clause in my contract. Though I will admit that if it was after the incineration bit I may have missed it. My mind _did_ shut off for a bit after that."

"It wasn't in there, laddie," Balin assured him with a laugh. "There was no clause against smiling in your contract."

"Thorin might have wanted to put one though," Glóin added. "Never been one for smiles, he hasn't."

"But he's never faulted others for theirs," Balin replied glaring at his cousin. "Thorin would not have done such a thing. He values smiles in others. Sometimes beyond prudence." Balin's tone was sad at the end and Glóin caught his eyes before flicking his own in the direction Dwalin had carried Kíli not long before. Balin gave him a shallow nod and flicked his own eyes to where Fíli was still sleeping in Thorin's lap. Glóin closed his eyes and shook his head sadly. Now Kíli's behavior that morning made more sense. The boys finally knew. He felt shame flood his veins at his part in it, little as it had been.

Bilbo watched this silent exchange in confusion. He glanced at Bofur hoping for clarification but the other dwarf merely shrugged. He did not understand what had just passed between the cousins any more than Bilbo did. Though he would have wagered most of his fourteenth that whatever it was had something to do with their king and his heirs.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Thorin did not notice that Bilbo had left until he looked up and realized that the hobbit was gone. He glanced around quickly and saw that Bilbo had left their food beside the tree before he had returned to the fire and the others. When his gaze returned to the blonde head resting on his thigh he had the sudden, cowardly urge to allow him to continue to sleep if only to prolong the moment. With a sigh Thorin realized that was not possible and that he now had to wake Fíli. It would be selfish of him to let his nephew sleep so that he could pretend that things were fine between them and allow his food to grow cold in the process.

"Fíli," he said stroking his nephew's cheek to wake him. He felt trepidation settle in his gut as Fíli stirred and hummed happily before he froze. Thorin stopped moving and it was everything that he could do to force himself to draw breath as he waited for the flare of temper that he knew would follow. There was no way that Fíli would be _pleased_ with having fallen asleep in his lap. Thorin knew that he had long ago forfeited the privilege of Fíli trusting him enough to sleep in his presence if not driven there by exhaustion. Even knowing what would surely follow Fíli's waking, Thorin was unable to resist the impulse to stroke Fíli's cheek once more before his hand would inevitably be batted away.

But Fíli was not angry. He was shocked. The last thing he remembered he had been laying with his head in his uncle's lap while Thorin braided his hair. Fíli knew that that much had happened; he could feel the familiar pull of fresh braids against his scalp. He froze as he realized that he must have fallen asleep while his uncle braided. He felt shame creep into his mind that he had been so weak as to sleep while his uncle braided his hair. That he had been soothed into unconsciousness like a dwarfling from such a simple touch. He knew that his uncle had to be embarrassed that Fíli was exhausted enough to fall asleep the moment he was still after only one night of little sleep.

His shame faded beneath shock when he felt his uncle's fingers move gently across his cheek once more. The gesture was gentle, affectionate and it confused him. He could not understand his uncle's behavior since the goblin caves. Thorin was doing many things that he had never done before. Not only had his uncle offered—no _requested_ —to braid his hair for the first time ever but he had also allowed him to sleep in his lap. Fíli had _never_ been allowed to do that. Not even as a child. The moment he had fallen asleep, Thorin had _always_ moved him to his bed and he could count the times he had been permitted to fall asleep on his uncle on one hand and it had been seventy years since any of those had  happened.

Knowing that his uncle would never allow this again, Fíli lay as still as he could, trying to prolong the moment as long as he could. He flinched when he felt Thorin's hand close gently around his shoulder and give him a bit of a shake. He had known that it was too good to last. His uncle was going to ask him to leave.

Thorin's heart broke anew at Fíli's flinch. He hated that Fíli felt the need to flinch away from his touch and that no matter what he said he seemed to startle his nephew. He looked back over his memories of their interactions and wondered if he had truly been such a horrible uncle that Fíli feared him. He could understand the distance and the confusion but not the fear. He had never struck his nephew. Fíli had no reason to fear him and it shamed him that he did.

"Fíli," Thorin whispered gently, attempting to keep the pain from his voice as he roused his nephew. "Come on now. There's food. You said that you were hungry, though if you prefer I suppose that you can sleep a bit longer before you _have_ to wake and eat."

"I can?" Fíli asked in a small voice as he rolled onto his back to look at his uncle without lifting his head from Thorin's leg. "You . . . you would . . . I-I could still sleep here? You're not . . . ashamed of me?" Thorin wanted to look away from the pain in Fíli's blue eyes, but instead he forced himself to hold his gaze and nodded slowly.

"Of course you can," Thorin replied, emotion choking his words. "Fíli, I'm so sorry that you feel you need to ask that question, lad. I am sorry that I have made  you feel unwelcome. And of course I am not ashamed of you. You weren't the only one who fell asleep just now." His smile turned wry before he continued, "The hobbit had to wake me to deliver our food. There is no shame in being tired, Fíli."

"Did Bilbo survive the experience?" Fíli asked with a laugh knowing that waking his uncle was always a dangerous task, years of being on edge in the wild making his first reaction to an unexpected touch a violent one.

"He's fortunate that I am wounded," Thorin replied with a small smile. "Now, do you wish to sleep a bit more or—" Fíli's stomach chose that moment to answer the question with a growl. Thorin had to smile, it seemed that some things never changed. "Come, lad, sit up and we'll dine together." Thorin's smile faded a bit as Fíli eagerly—too eagerly—scrambled to hand Thorin a bowl before he sat beside him too closely for Thorin's comfort. It was not Fíli's presence that he objected to, but the pressure his nephew's weight put on his wounds. He tried to ignore it in favor of knowing that he was giving Fíli what he needed to heal but it was beyond him. Every pulse of his heart caused the pain to intensify and he knew that he would not long be able to endure it.

"Fíli," Thorin whispered reluctantly, flinching at the way Fíli stiffened beside him at his name. "I am sorry, lad but . . . I need you to move away just a bit. I . . . I can't breathe." Fíli's sharp intake of breath was like a knife to his heart, as was the amount of distance his heir put between them. Fíli had scooted away from him far enough that no warmth even passed between them and had curled almost defensively in on himself, even so slight a rejection breaking his resolve.

"Fíli," Thorin sighed eventually as he watched his nephew pick at his food. "I'm sorry, lad."

"No!" Fíli replied vehemently, turning to look at his uncle with wide, shocked blue eyes. "You have nothing to apologize for, Uncle. I . . . I was the one who . . . the one _stupid_ enough to forget that you are injured. I . . . I'm sorry, Uncle. I should have known better." Fíli snorted derisively and shook his head before he continued in a pained voice, "If I can't even remember something like _that_! I truly am worthless."

"No," Thorin said harshly, not even repenting his harshness when Fíli looked at him cautiously. "You are _not_ worthless and I _never_ want to hear you say such a thing again. You are not worthless, Fíli." The words hung between them for a moment before Fíli looked away and whispered, "Then why couldn't you love me?"

"What?" Thorin breathed feeling as if Fíli had punched him in the stomach. It was not news to him that Fíli believed that he loved Kíli more, nor was it news to him that he had led his nephew to believe it but . . . he didn't know that Fíli believed himself unworthy of love at all. He felt disgust for himself well within him that he could lead Fíli to believe such a horrible thing. Love was freely given, not earned through merit. Thorin knew that well. He knew that if one had to earn love he would never have had Dís or her boys. He knew that he was not worthy of the love they had for him but that it was his all the same, just as all love is. He had thought that Fíli knew it too.

"Why couldn't you love me?" Fíli repeated, looking at Thorin with tears in his eyes and confusion and pain in his voice. "If I'm not worthless . . . I . . . I have _tried_ to be worthy, Uncle. I . . . I have tried to do _everything_ that you _ever_ asked of me. I . . . I know that I've often failed but . . . what did I do that was so wrong? It . . . you used to love me just like you do Kíli and then . . . what did I do to make you stop?! I . . . I've tried to figure out what it was and I . . . I _can't_. I can't figure out what it was! Tell me what it was! I'll never do it again, I swear!"

"Fíli, you did nothing wrong," Thorin replied desperate to make the boy understand that Thorin's failings were no fault of Fíli's. " _I_ was the one that wronged _you_. You did _nothing_."

"Is that why?" Fíli replied desperately, his tone growing more frantic as he continued. "Is that what it was? Did-did I not do _enough_? W-was I n-not _good_ enough? Did-did I f-fail too often at too m-many things? I-is it because I never truly mastered math? Or . . . or the ax! It's because I can't use an ax as a weapon, isn't it? Or . . . I-I-I don't know. Tell me what else I have done wrong, Uncle! I _swear_ that I will try harder to perfect. I . . . I know that I can't do it but . . . but maybe I can be just good enough to earn your love. Please let me try!" Fíli watched with baited breath as Thorin's head fell into his hands and his fingers tangled in his hair, pulling roughly at it while his shoulders shook and felt his own heart freeze in his chest. His uncle was so furious with him that he was shaking. He felt himself go cold as he realized that yet again he had failed. In his desperation he had ruined any chance that he may have ever had. There was no way that his uncle could love him after this latest show of weakness. The only sound was a rushing in his ears that drowned out even his own sobs.

"I-I-I'm s-s-sorry, Uncle," Fíli finally managed to choke out. "I'll just . . . I'll go away now. I'm sorry."

"Stop!" Thorin snapped as Fíli rose to his feet and out of long habit of following his uncle's commands, Fíli froze. "Just stop." Thorin said harshly. Fíli hung his head in shame, unable to look at his uncle and see the disappointment that he knew would be there but he made no further move to leave. It would do no good at any rate. It wasn't as if he could change the truth by running away.

"Fíli," Thorin said steadily trying to get his nephew to look at him and feeling the shattered pieces of his heart break into powder as he saw the crystal drops fall from Fíli's eyes. "Fíli, look at me." His nephew made a small noise of protest in his throat and Thorin repeated his command. "Look at me, lad." So slowly that Thorin knew he was loathe to do it, Fíli raised his head and opened his eyes. 

Once he did, Fíli was surprised to see tears in his uncle's eyes. Never before had he seen his uncle cry, not since the night Kíli was born. Just as he had then, Fíli reached out a finger and scooped up one of the tears. Unlike then, however, this time the motion was tentative, though the confusion on his face was the same as it had been then. He looked at the tear on his finger before turning his hand and showing it to Thorin.

"Uncle?" Fíli whispered just as he had the first time. Here, however things took a different turn. "Why . . . are you in pain?" The sheer lack of understanding in Fíli's voice broke Thorin and before he thought it fully through, he had grabbed Fíli's wrist and tugged his nephew into his lap, savagely pressing down his own pain as he tried to hold Fíli there.

"Uncle!" Fíli protested attempting to right himself, "you'll only injure yourself! Your wounds!"

"I don't care," Thorin rasped. "It's no less than I deserve for what I've done to you." His mind whispered that it was fitting that Fíli had been the one to injure him so but he knew better than to say as much to his distraught nephew.

"Fíli, my sweet _foolish_ boy," Thorin breathed, burying his nose in the golden hair that had so unfairly caused so much pain to his nephew. "Fíli, you don't have to _earn_ love, lad. If you have to . . . then it's not love. You may have to work to regain it but . . . you should _never_ have to work to gain it from your family." He winced as Fíli dug his fingers into the shirt he wore and clung to him yet again.

"Then why did I never have your love?" Fíli whispered, begging for answers as he always had.

"You had it, lad," Thorin promised. "I have _always_ loved you. I . . . I . . ." Thorin paused with a sigh and realized that there was no way to explain this other than to do it. He quickly glanced over at the others and realized that they were all still eating or napping, with the notable exception of Kíli and Dwalin who were nowhere to be seen. He briefly wondered where they had gotten to before he pushed it from his mind and turned his full attention on Fíli once more.

"I have a confession to make to you, lad," Thorin whispered. "One that I should have made long ago to myself. I'm ashamed to say that I did not even realize it until it was pointed out to me yesterday, first by you and then again by Balin. I did not realize that I had pushed you away, Fíli. I know that nothing I can say can make it up to you but . . . I only ask that you hear me out and then you can do with me what you will." He waited until Fíli nodded against him before he tried to take a deep breath only to end up swearing vehemently.

"This can wait until you are feeling better, Uncle," Fíli offered attempting to sit up once more.

"No it cannot!" Thorin snarled refusing to free him though the effort of holding him there made his shoulders throb. "It has waited longer than it should have. Just give me a moment to collect my thoughts." He felt Fíli nod again and decided that he knew where he needed to start.

"I told you that you have done nothing wrong," Thorin began sadly. "And that is true. _You_ did nothing to make me distant with you; _that_ was done by another, long ago." He had to pause to swallow before he could continue. He had not spoken of Frerin—truly spoken of him—in years but he knew that now was the time.

"My brother, my _golden_ - _haired_ brother, is the cause of it," Thorin continued. "Or more aptly, my guilt and pain over his death. Fíli . . . I . . . I as good as killed him. I was responsible for the death of my little brother." Thorin had to close his eyes at the admission. He knew that it was true, but the only other person he had ever spoken those words to was Dís and she refused to believe it. Fíli . . . he would not have the same reservations as his mother.

"W-what?" Fíli breathed incredulously. "You can't've. You would never have—"

"I did," Thorin cut him off harshly. "The night before the battle . . . Frerin and I were alone in our tent. He _begged_ me to talk with our father and grandfather about calling off the war. Told me that there was no need for it, no need for _children_ to be thrown into a pitched battle. I . . ."

"You didn't do it," Fíli supplied gently. "You didn't talk to them for him. Is that why you think you killed him? Uncle . . . no offence, but that is foolish."

"No, Fíli," Thorin said sadly. "It wasn't just that I refused to talk to them, which I did but . . . I said cruel things to him. Such _cruel_ things! I . . . I called him a coward," Thorin paused for a humorless, pain-filled laugh, "I said that he was _useless_ and unworthy of his place in the succession and that he had better hope that he died the next day if I did because our people would never follow such a weakling. I . . . I told him . . . I told him that—Mahal!— I told him that no brother of mine could be such a coward and that I never wanted to see him again." He paused and drew in a shuddering breath before he could continue.

"I _disowned_ my brother the night before he died," Thorin whispered. "I don't know when or how he fell but I know that he died _knowing_ that his older brother hated him and wanted nothing more to do with him. I don't know how much that knowledge played into his death, but I know that his full focus could not have been on the battle: a battle he never wanted to be in. Frerin . . . Frerin was only forty-eight. He was still a _child_! and . . . and I left him alone to face the orcs. Alone and believing that he was unloved."

"The look in his eyes as I told him that he was a useless coward . . . it haunts me to this day," Thorin said. "142 years later and when I close my eyes I can still see it. I can still see the pain, the hatred. And then you were born," Thorin added sadly, stroking Fíli's hair. "I still remember when your father showed you to me. Gíli . . . he was _so_ proud of you. But the only thing that I could think of the first time I saw you was how much your hair looked like my brother's had."

"That was part of the reason I insisted you braid it, you know," Thorin admitted with a sheepish smile. "Frerin . . . he was like Kíli in a way. My brother _hated_ braids. You could put them in but before you could turn around they were out once more. Eventually my father gave up and let him leave it unbraided. Seeing yours free . . . it was painful for me. So, I insisted that you wear braids, though I knew how you hated them, and for that I apologize. And that is only the least of my slights against you, my dear sweet nephew. I .  . . there are no words that I know to express just how sorry I am for what I have done to you. For all of the things that I failed to do for you, for all the times that I wasn't there for you when you needed me."

Thorin paused and when he spoke again, Fíli could barely hear him, though he was still pressed against his uncle. "I failed you, Fíli," Thorin whispered. "There is nothing else for me to say. I. Failed. You. I never gave you the affection that you deserved and nothing can change that. I . . . I only hope that you can forgive me and allow me a second chance to do things correctly. I promise you that I will never push you away again simply because you remind me too much of another failing of mine. I will not allow history to repeat itself. In _any_ way." His words stirred something in Fíli and he pulled back to stare at his uncle, ignoring Thorin's weak attempts to keep in him place.

"That's what your reaction was about this morning," Fíli said feeling the blankness of his own expression as the truth sank in. "When I tried to offer to protect you and you rejected me. It was about your brother, wasn't it? It wasn't about me. It's never been about me."

"Not entirely," Thorin disagreed. " I am genuinely concerned for your wellbeing but . . . all of the distance that has been . . . that _I've_ put between us . . . it was never your fault, Fíli. I . . . you did nothing to merit such treatment from me, other than be born looking too much like someone else that I had wronged." Rather than provide the comfort that Thorin had believed they would, his words hit Fíli like a blow as the truth of the matter sank in: his uncle would never be able to love him the way that he could Kíli. All of his work at being perfect, at doing things just so in the hope that his uncle would come to love him as he did Kíli . . . it was useless. No matter what he did he would still look like his dead uncle. Nothing could change that. Everything he had ever done was worthless. He felt pain grip his chest at the realization before it turned to anger.

"You . . . you made me believe that I was not good enough," Fíli breathed glaring at his uncle through his hair. "You . . . because of you I . . . I _knew_ that I wasn't good enough. No matter what Mother or Kíli said . . . all I wanted from you was just a _hint_ of the affection that you so freely gave to Mother and Kíli. I . . . I _never_ understood what I had done to cause you to take what little of it I had gotten away. And . . . and you mean to tell me that . . . that _ALL_ of it was because . . . _none_ of it had to do with me?! I didn't do ANYTHING to deserve your coldness and nothing I could have done would have prevented it? Just because I was born with blonde hair?!"

"Fíli," Thorin said reaching for his nephew only to have his hand swatted away and for Fíli to look at him more coldly than he ever had before. "Please."

"Not this time," Fíli snarled. "I . . . I could have let it go if I had done something but . . . _why_ . . . what made you think that this would make it better? Why did you think that I would be happier knowing that it was not my own lack of worth by rather _your_ issues that took you away from me? Especially after I've spent the last _seventy years_ believing that I was just not good enough for you to love me. Why didn't you ever think to tell me, to tell Mother?! She thinks that you are cold towards me as a means of molding me into a king not because—" Fíli cut himself off, not wanting to twist the knife in the wound even now. Though he felt resentment and pain towards his uncle, he could still not bring himself to hate Thorin, not in his present condition. He wasn't sure that Thorin would survive his hatred and some small part of him wanted his uncle to survive so that they could have this out like true dwarves when they were both well and whole once more. His uncle owed him no less. He would ensure that his uncle survived if only so that it could happen.

"I can't believe that . . . I used to want to be just like you, you know," Fíli whispered, his left hand reaching up to unclasp the braids that Thorin had put there only moments before. He looked directly into his uncle's blue eyes as he continued. "I tried to do everything just as you did. That's why I chose many of the paths in life I did. Did you know that I have worn fresh braids every day just to try to please you? Or that I never climbed trees after the time I fell when I was seven and you told me that true dwarves did not climb because even though I enjoyed it I wanted to be a true dwarf in your eyes? Did you know that I wasn't drawn to the sword as a weapon initially, that I liked the feel of a bow in my hands as much as Kíli does? I _chose_ to master swords _because_ it was the weapon _you_ favored. That's why I also carry throwing knives. I like the security of a ranged attack, the safety of it. I modeled my life after yours and now . . . now I see that I modeled it after a lie. All the aloofness that I thought was part of kingship . . . it's not, is it? Is it, Uncle? It's really just a way for you to keep others out, isn't it?"

Thorin sat there in silence, he hadn't known any of that. He hadn't known that he had affected his nephew's life so drastically. He had thought that Fíli had made the choice he had made in life because he wanted to, not because he felt obligated to. With a sad shake of his head Thorin breathed the words that he knew would fix nothing.

"I don't know," he whispered unable to look away from the pain and anger smoldering in Fíli's eyes. "I'm not sure of anything anymore, Fíli. Not truly."

"Neither am I," Fíli replied simply as he began unbraiding the clasp-free hair. He sat there, staring at his uncle with his blonde hair flowing freely around his face for a moment with an indecipherable expression on his face before he stood and walked to where the others were sitting. Thorin watched him walk away before picking the small silver clasps up from where Fíli had allowed them to fall and closing his hands around them tightly enough that he could feel the etchings imprinting on his palms. Though it had pained him to watch Fíli undo his braids, he knew that it was less than he deserved for what he had done. He turned his face away from the company so that none would see the bitter tears that fell from his eyes at the realization that there was nothing that he could do to fix this. He truly had lost everything. Even if he survived . . . there was nothing left for him. Not in this life or the afterlife. And he found that it was rather fitting. After all, _he_ was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay on this one, school has been hell and this was a hard chapter for me to write *sighs* 
> 
> You all still love me, right? Even though I suck at regular updates and keep rebreaking the things that I fix, right? (See, even authors beg for acceptance XD)


	25. An Explanation Why it Continued and a Plea for Silence

Dwalin watched in shock as Kíli dissolved before him, guilt flooding his veins. He had meant to make Kíli feel remorse, but not to reduce him to _this_. Then, as suddenly as he had sunk to the ground, Kíli was on his feet. He glanced around him with wild eyes for a moment and then he was running. It took Dwalin a second to realize that Kíli was running _away_ from camp but once he did he, too, was in motion as he attempted to run down his twice wounded cousin.

Kíli felt a sob rise up his throat as he heard Dwalin crashing through the underbrush behind him. Couldn't Dwalin see that he needed to leave? Fighting back his sobs, he tried desperately to find a bit more speed. He knew that, with his longer legs, Dwalin would catch him easily if this remained a sprint but if he could turn it into a foot race, well, then he stood a chance of escape. It had always been that way. Kíli's slimmer build gave him the advantage in distance and endurance. If he could outdistance Fíli in the first few moments he could win, if not ... well, Fíli had always been stronger and faster in short distances but if Kíli could evade him long enough, Fíli would tire and he would win. He only hoped that Dwalin would be the same.

It was a brilliant plan and would have worked beautifully save for one fact: Kíli's injuries. Try as he might, he was unable to coax speed from himself and only managed to run a short distance before Dwalin tackled him to the ground, twisting them in the air so that his own body took the brunt of the fall as he had when Kíli was small.  Despite having the air forced from his lungs when they hit, Dwalin held firm as Kíli writhed against him. It was clear that he was desperate to be free but for the life of him Dwalin could not understand why, and to be truthful, neither could Kíli. He didn't know _why_ he needed to flee only that it was imperative that he do so. As soon as h realized that Dwalin was not going to free him, he felt rage coil within him once more, this time directed at his cousin.

"Let me go!" Kíli snarled continuing to writhe in Dwalin's hold despite the pain the friction it created caused him. "Damn it, Dwalin, let me go!"

"No," the older dwarf replied stubbornly, grunting as one of Kíli's elbows managed to burry itself in his side. "You're not going anywhere. Not until you've calmed enough that you won't do anything foolish. Thorin and Dís'd have my head if I let you get yourself killed."

"They wouldn't care!" Kíli snapped redoubling his efforts to be free despite the blood he could feel beginning to trickle down his back. He even went as far as attempting to bite his cousin in hopes of being released.

"They'd care," Dwalin promised, moving his arm down Kíli's chest so that it was out of reach of his teeth. "And don't bite. That's not fair, lad."

"After what I've done they _shouldn't_ care!" Kíli retorted. "And I thought you once told me that anything was fair in a fight." Dwalin chose not to dignify that last statement with a reply. He had told Kíli that, but he had prefaced it by saying that all was fair in a fight for your life. This was not that situation and it pained him that Kíli would think it necessary to be free at any cost.

"Rubbish!" Dwalin snapped, allowing his pain at Kíli's actions and foolish beliefs to feed into his words and lend them authority, along with giving his cousin a sharp squeeze to punctuate his opinion on the matter. "Did you not listen to a single word I said or did it just fail to penetrate your _foolish_ skull?! They. Love. You, you idiotic dwarfling. They're not going to stop loving you just because you made a few mistakes."

"And Fíli?" Kíli demanded, his tone and continual writhing revealing his unconvinced state.

"He's pissed, and rightly so," Dwalin replied. " _But_ he still loves you." For half a second Kíli stilled and Dwalin breathed a sigh of relief, but then Kíli was once more struggling to be free like a thing possessed. "Kíli, stop that! I'm not lettin' go, lad. You're only going to hurt yourself. I don't _want_ to hurt you!"

"Then let me go!" Kíli yelled before he shifted tactics and instead of yelling tried to plead with his cousin for release. "Please, Dwalin, please let me go. I just . . . I can't . . . _please_ let me go." Suddenly Kíli's mind was filled with another voice, that of his brother the day before _._

_"No," Fíli sobbed. "Please, please just go away. I-I-I can't . . . I can't do this right now, Kíli. Please leave me alone."_

At the memory, a sob rose up Kíli's throat at the desperate look that had been in Fíli's eyes at the time. The way his hands had shook and his lip trembled as he tried to control himself. Only now did Kíli truly realize just how desperate his brother had been to be alone. Now he understood why Fíli had lashed out the way he had. It wasn't what Kíli had said. Not really. No, he had felt trapped. Kíli had backed him into a corner and he had reacted. He remembered the shock and horror in Fíli's eyes as he had looked from Kíli's bleeding face to the knife in his hand and the quaver in his voice as he had spoken: _"I didn't mean to," he had said "I swear it. I would never—"; "It wasn't anger," he had promised, begging Kíli to understand. "It was panic. Kíli, I'm so sorry. I—"_

But Kíli hadn't understood. He had never experienced such a blind need to flee before and had been unable to understand. Now he did. Now he understood that he had trapped his brother, just the same as Dwalin was trapping him now, and when Fíli had lashed out to be free—as Kíli had a bit ago—he had been punished for it. It was his fault that his brother had been punished. Not Thorin's, not truly even Fíli's. It was his. He felt all the fight drain out of him and his limbs go limp as he realized how much he had almost cost his brother through his own stupidity. He was worthless.

Even when Kíli stilled once more, Dwalin kept a tight grip on him, thinking it to be a ruse. It was only when the young dwarf went completely limp in his arms that he realized that Kíli truly had give up this ridiculous notion of running away.  

"Kíli?" Dwalin asked nudging the limp dwarfling in his arms, fearful of letting him go even now. Kíli gave no reply and only his continued breathing revealed that he still lived.

"Kíli, get up, lad," Dwalin tried again, striving to be both gentle and firm at the same time. "It's time we get back to the others. I carried you out of camp and have no intention of hauling you back as well."

"Then leave me here," Kíli muttered in response. "I don't deserve to go back." Dwalin's heart broke at the desolation in the young heir's voice. Kíli truly believed that, just as Thorin had _. Perhaps Kíli developed more than just Thorin's temper after all,_ Dwalin thought with a sigh as he wished yet again that Kíli had picked something other than his uncle's negativity as a second trait to emulate. He also wondered at the fact that he had never seen the similarities between them before.

"And what would you do if I did, hm?"  Dwalin asked, trying to keep the pain of his new realizations to himself. "You're in no condition to hunt even if you did have your bow. You've _never_ been good at foraging, not that I blame you. All you get that way is nuts, berries and greens, but that's beside the point. And, in case you've forgotten, we're being trailed by an orc pack. No offence, lad, but just what do you think you'll do if _they_ find you alone?" Kíli said nothing in response and his silence spoke volumes. Dwalin knew that Kíli knew what fate would await him at their hands and  he also knew that Kíli didn't care. Kíli _wanted_ to die.

With a deep sigh, Dwalin bodily shifted Kíli so that he was more cradled than sprawled. He hated to do it and risk aggravating the wounds that he _knew_ Kíli had to have reopened in his struggles but he felt that he needed to be able to see Kíli's face and gage his response to what was about to be said. Even so, it broke his heart to see just how listless Kíli truly was, seeming to lack the energy to even hold his own head up, instead allowing it to lull onto Dwalin's shoulder pathetically.

Dwalin gently gasped Kíli's chin in his right hand with a sigh and tipped the heir's face up towards him. Kíli met his eyes, the usually bright brown orbs dull and shallow. Dwalin flinched slightly at the lack of life in Kíli but quickly schooled his features.

"That wasn't a rhetorical question, lad," Dwalin said sternly. "I'm not my brother. If I take the time to ask a question I want an answer. Now, tell me, what would you do if the orcs found you alone?"  Kíli blinked at him a couple of times before he spoke, his voice so quiet that the words were almost lost.

"I'd die," Kíli replied in a no-nonsense tone that was more painful for the lack of passion in it.

"Painfully, Kíli," Dwalin said gently, unable to stop the pain from showing on his face at the thought. He was only more worried when Kíli showed no reaction to his addition. "You would _eventually_ die in a _very_ painful manner. You . . . you haven't ever seen what orcs _do_ to dwarves, Kíli. It—" Dwalin paused to shudder at the memories of the corpses he had seen after the Battle of Azanulbizar.

"It . . . It's no way to die, Kíli," Dwalin finally managed to say. "Take the worst thing that you have ever _heard_ that orcs do and multiply it tenfold. We . . . we never told you the half of it, lad. Orcs don't just kill they . . . once they're done with them . . . the bodies . . . they aren't recognizable, Kíli. And I don't just mean that you can't tell _who_ they were; I've seen corpses , and soon-to-be-corpses, so mangled that I couldn't even tell _what_ they used to be."

"And that was after a battle, Kíli," Dwalin continued. "A battle where they had to move on fairly quickly to keep from being killed themselves. If they captured you and had _time_ . . . it's not a fate you would want, lad. Trust me. In fact, if we can't escape them or defeat them, I'll commit suicide before I allow them to take me." Even through his numbness Kíli felt shock at the statement. To commit suicide was the most ignoble thing that you could do. It barred you from the Halls of Mandos. No self-respecting dwarf committed suicide. But even the shock of his cousin's admission of plans to kill himself, Kíli could not break free of his pain.

"It can't hurt more than this," Kíli replied. "It can't hurt more than living with what I've done." He tried to look away from the haunted look in his cousin's dark eyes as he spoke, but Dwalin's hold on his jaw was inescapable.

"It can," Dwalin promised darkly. "At least you still know your own name." Kíli scoffed in response.

"Lot of good _that_ does me," Kíli spat. "I am Kíli, son of Dís, betrayer of his own _brother_."

"You didn't betray your brother," Dwalin sighed exasperatedly.

"I didn't?" Kíli asked incredulously. "Then what do _you_ call what I did?! I. Betrayed. Him, Dwalin. I betrayed him and I can't ever do anything to fix it."

Before Kíli could process what was happening, Dwalin was on his feet glaring down at Kíli, who had been unceremoniously dumped off the larger dwarf's lap when he moved. Dwalin stood there for a second before he began pacing and gesturing angrily while swearing vehemently—and fluently—in Khuzdul. Even through his pain and shame Kíli had to blush at some of the _vile_ things that Dwalin was saying. Eventually he calmed a bit and rounded on Kíli once more.

"I'm done!" he shouted. "I am DONE! Do you hear me?! I am _sick_ of having this conversation! I've had it with _you_ ; I've had it with Thorin and I'm _not_ having it anymore! I'm DONE!"

"You've had it with Uncle?" Kíli asked in confusion, having missed the point entirely in his surprise that Dwalin had had the conversation they were now having with his uncle and wondering why they had had it.

"Multiple times!" Dwalin snarled. "First about Frerin and Thráin all those years ago. How your _fool_ uncle got it into his head that it was his fault I will never know but Mahal himself could not change his mind now. Stubborn bastard. But _you_. You're not letting this eat you alive, Kíli. I won't watch it happen a second time. You. did. not. betray Fíli. Betrayal requires _intent_. There was no intent there, lad. Only the stupid, rash behavior of an idiotic dwarfling."

"I can't deny that, lad," Dwalin said more gently. "You behaved callously and foolishly. _Stupidly_ even, but you did not betray him."

"He would disagree with you," Kíli whispered looking away from the intensity in his cousin's dark eyes. " _He_ thinks I betrayed him. He hates me." In a rush Dwalin was there, gripping Kíli's arms and hauling the younger dwarf to his feet. His fingers dug painfully into the bruises that Fíli had left there the day before but Kíli said nothing knowing that it was less than he deserved.

"Now you _listen_ to me, Kíli," Dwalin growled, his face inches from Kíli's. "Your brother _does not_ hate you. I don't know that he has it in him to hate _anyone_ , but even if he did it wouldn't be you. It could _never_ be _you_. Don't look at me like that. I spoke to him after he woke after I knocked him unconscious yesterday. Even _knowing_ that he was about to be punished for his actions his _first_ question was about _you._  He didn't even care about what was going to happen to him, even as I sat right beside him sharpening a knife. All he wanted to know was if you were alright and if I thought the mark he left on you would scar. He couldn't hate you, Kíli. It would be easier for him if he could." As abruptly as he had been grabbed, Kíli found himself released and he toppled over at the suddenness of it as his cousin began pacing once more.

"You asked me if I'd seen Fíli lately and I have," Dwalin said his face twisted with emotion and anger coloring his words as he continued. " _I_ was the one who held his arm and tried to comfort him when your uncle threatened to shave off his beard. _I_ was the one who held him after his nightmares and wiped away his tears and soothed his fears. _I_ was _always_ the one he came to when . . ." he paused and shook his head angrily to clear it as he blew out a breath through his nose.

"You don't think I saw just as clearly as you did just how readily Fíli fell into Thorin's gestures of affection?" Dwalin demanded. "You don't think I care for your brother enough that if there was even a _hint_ of insincerity in your uncle that I wouldn't say something? I am neither blind nor stupid, Kíli, despite what you seem to think. I _know_ how you fear for Fíli. I _know._ But I also know that it is unnecessary this time. I assure you that Thorin is _quite_ repentant. He will _never_ treat your brother so callously again."

"Why?" Kíli demanded glaring up at his cousin.

"Why won't he?!" Dwalin scoffed. "Mahal, Kíli! Thorin's not heartless! You should know that better than anyone! He's always been warm towards _you_. He knows that he made a mistake. Thorin's many things but a fool is not one of them. Now that he knows he will never do it again. Thorin's got issues but he _loves_ your brother, Kíli."

"You misunderstood my question," Kíli replied sadly. "I wasn't talking about Uncle. I meant _you_. If you see and know _so_ much and care for Fíli _so_ much why did you allow this to continue. I didn't know. I know that's not an excuse but . . . had I have . . .  I would have at least _tried_ to put a stop to it. Why didn't you?"

Dwalin sighed and ran a hand over his face. He had halfway hoped that Kíli would not ask him that. He knew that the young heir, neither of them, was not going to like the answer.

"Kíli," he sighed coming to kneel before the younger dwarf and taking his hand as he begged him to understand. "There is no good answer for this, lad. The simple one," he paused to give a dry, mirthless laugh, "the simplest answer is that it was your uncle. I know that to you he is _just_ Thorin. He is just the dwarf that has loved you since you were born, raised you, bandaged your hurts. I know that you only see him as a parent." Kíli opened his mouth but Dwalin cut him off.

"I _know_ that you are aware of his status among our people, but, Kíli, it's never really affected you," Dwalin said. "You are family. Even if you said or did things that were . . . inappropriate, the worst that you could expect would be a tanning. No doubt an unpleasant one, but you would survive it." Dwalin let out a snort of a laugh before he said, "Who am I kidding? I doubt Thorin ever raised a hand to you. You could probably get away with whatever you wanted to." Kíli looked away at the truth of the words. He couldn't ever remember his uncle punishing him. His mother had but never his uncle, and Thorin had never been around when Dís did, he always found somewhere else he urgently needed to be and only came back later once it was over.

"You're family too," Kíli argued, feeling that it was a weak explanation. "You said as much earlier."

"I'm not family in the same way you and Fíli are, lad," Dwalin replied. "I'm a distant cousin, not direct blood kin. I know that you don't truly see the difference but there is one."

"So you let him do it because you were afraid of him?" Kíli asked trying to understand.

"That's an oversimplification but yes," the older dwarf agreed. "Now, don't get me wrong, lad; Thorin's no despot. He is a just and fair ruler, I have no qualms with him about that. And it's not as if I never tried. More than once Balin and I tried to convince Thorin that Fíli would benefit from the same freedom that you were given, or even a tiny bit of praise but Thorin always shut off when we did. We . . . we didn't want to push him, Kíli. I know that it was not fair of us. It was not fair to Fíli but he . . . he never seemed to notice the difference. He _never_ hinted that he knew there was a difference." Dwalin's breathing was beginning to become more heavy and Kíli could have sworn that he saw tears in his cousin's eyes.

"If I would have _known_ ," Dwalin cried, "If he would have just given a _hint_. If he would have said _one_ word to me . . . I would have confronted Thorin, consequences be damned. As it was . . . we made a choice, Kíli. I can't justify it. I can't explain it in a way that will satisfy you because it was the wrong decision but it was the only one that we could make."

"We _needed_ Thorin, lad," Dwalin said. "We couldn't afford to have him shut us all out. And that's what _would_ have happened. It nearly did one day. I tried to make him see what he had done by bringing up Frerin and Thorin . . . he . . . he shut off, Kíli. He froze. His eyes were completely blank and he only snapped out of it when I fetched Dís and had her fix it. Thorin was _traumatized_  by the death of his brother, Kíli. Deeper than any of us know. He's never recovered, not really, but that doesn't absolve us of what we did. _We_ betrayed Fíli, not you. _We_ were the ones that made the conscious decision to keep Thorin sane at your brother's expense."

"We didn't know what kind of damage we had done until yesterday," Dwalin promised. "You _have_ to believe me, lad. I _love_ your brother like he was my own. You have no idea how it hurt me to have no choice but to sit back and watch as Fíli struggled under the pressures that Thorin put on him even if he didn't seem to suffer from them. I _wanted_ to help him. I did everything that I could without openly defying your uncle. I only wish I had done more. I _should_ have done more. I failed him." With those last words, he bowed his head and placed it on Kíli's hand in his grasp, waiting for what Kíli would say in response.

Seeing someone as proud as Dwalin kneeling before him, pleading for understanding and forgiveness made Kíli's stomach twist uncomfortably. It seemed wrong that someone he had such respect for would beg him for anything. What almost made him feel worse was the realization that he couldn't give Dwalin what he wanted; the forgiveness he craved wasn't Kíli's to give, nor was anger for the actions his to hold.

"I'm sorry, Dwalin," Kíli whispered. "I . . . I can't forgive you." Dwalin nodded, he had expected no less. Forgiveness wasn't in Thorin's nature; with all the similarities they shared, it made sense that it wasn't in Kíli's either.

"It's alright, lad," Dwalin replied, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "I didn't expect you to."

"I-I would if I could," Kíli offered with a sad smile. "It-It's just that . . . it's not mine to give. Just as vengeance isn't mine to take. If you really want forgiveness, you need to tell Fíli what you just told me. But . . . please, don't do it yet. I . . . I know it's not right of me to ask you to delay your quest for forgiveness but . . . don't do it." Kíli paused trying to regain control of himself. He refused to cry. He was done crying.

"Fíli . . . just . . . let him be happy for a bit, please?" Kíli asked. "I know that I . . . I _can't_ ask this of you but . . . please? This . . . it'll destroy him to know that all of you allowed this. I . . . just let him have this little bit of peace, for me?" Dwalin had to smile at the change that had come over the youngest heir in the span of a few minutes. Maybe there was hope for Kíli yet. He was at least beginning to think of others. That was a good place to start.

"I can do that, lad," Dwalin replied. "I've waited this long, I can stand to wait a bit longer. Do you think you're ready to head back now?" Kíli nodded, offering the older dwarf a small smile.

"I think I am," Kíli said rising slowly to his feet with a grimace. He was truly beginning to feel the results of his writhing and regretted it both because he was ashamed of his actions and because he had injured himself in the process.

"Are you alright, lad," Dwalin asked, concern wrinkling his brow as he watched Kíli move gingerly. Kíli swallowed and tried to mask his pain behind a smile as he nodded.

"I'm fine," Kíli panted. "Let's head back." Dwalin nodded. He could tell that Kíli was lying to him, but he did not confront him on it. If he wanted to be in pain that was his own affair. _Lad's as stubborn as Thorin too,_ Dwalin thought with a smirk. This was at least one trait that was admirable when it was directed in the right way. Ignoring pain could be a very useful skill.

They were nearly back when Kíli stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm. Dwalin looked at him with a raised eyebrow and Kíli swallowed before he spoke. "Do . . . do you think Fíli will be alright?" Kíli asked, sounding much younger than he was once again. "I mean . . . you said that Uncle is traumatized from one brutal day . . . will Fíli . . . will he . . ."

"I don't know, Kíli," Dwalin replied.  "No one can know for sure." Kíli's face fell at his honesty and Dwalin tapped the side of his face to get his attention. "But, Kíli, there's always hope, lad. No one's dead this time. It's not a lost cause."

"Where there's life there's hope," Kíli whispered, echoing Dís' favorite statement as they were growing up.

"Aye, lad," Dwalin whispered. "Where there's life there's hope. And there's still life here. Let's try to keep it that way."  Kíli offered him a sad smile as they walked back to the fire, Kíli hoping that someone had thought to save them some of the food that he could smell wafting back to them. 


	26. Deep Confusion, Hair Clasps and Depression

After he stormed away from his uncle, Fíli sat himself by the fire and stared into the flames trying to make sense of his chaotic thoughts. He was troubled to discover that the task was beyond him. In the past, whenever he had been angry he had tried to think about what his uncle would do in such a position but now . . . that thought brought him no comfort. And that left him with a dilemma. What did _he_ , Fíli son of Dís, intend to do about this. It was something that he had never had to think of before.

In the past, there had always been a clear answer. Any problem could be solved by asking himself 'what would a _true_ dwarf do in this situation?' but now . . . now he had no idea what a true dwarf _was,_ let alone what one would do. Never before had he felt so lost or confused in his entire life. _Everything_ that he had ever believed to be true had just been revealed to be a lie. He wasn't a failure. He hadn't done anything wrong. His uncle wasn't ashamed of him and didn't think that he was the shame of the line of Durin.

It was what he had _longed_ to hear his entire life but it didn't make him feel better about himself. Rather, it only served to confuse him more. If he wasn't a failure why hadn't his uncle been able to see _him_ rather than his dead uncle. Why hadn't Thorin been able to see _Fíli_? He knew that it was pathetic but he wished that he could go back just ten minutes and stop his uncle from telling him about Frerin. It was easier to believe that he was a failure than to know that despite all his efforts to be noticed and seen as a true dwarf, his uncle had never seen him at all. It had been easier to understand that he had earned the coolness through failure than to have to face the fact that nothing he could have done could ever have been good enough to earn him love.  How was failing to earn love not a sign of deeper failures on his part? Fíli didn't even know what to believe about himself now.

He may not have known how he felt about himself in light of this revelation, but he was sure of one thing; he was _furious_ with his uncle. As strange as it was, he wasn't as angry with his uncle for having behaved as he had but more for thinking that he could explain it away and make everything better. He wondered how his uncle could have ever thought that _that_ explanation would help anything and he was furious that Thorin thought it could. But mixed in with the fury at his uncle was fury at himself.

Despite what Thorin had just said—which his mother had been saying for years—Fíli _knew_ that there had to be something wrong with him. Despite _everything_ that his uncle had done, all the years of favoritism and coldness and the insecurity that came from it, Fíli couldn't bring himself to hate his uncle. When he tried, the only thing that he could see was the pride that had been in his uncle's eyes in the Goblin Cave. The _pride_ that his uncle had looked on him with as Fíli had inflicted unimaginable pain on him. When he tried to reach for hatred to comfort himself he couldn't get past the _pride_ that had been in his uncle's dark blue eyes as he had tortured their owner to save Kíli. Pride, approval, _love_. Fíli couldn't hate someone that could look at him like that while suffering at his own hands.

Nor could he hate someone who had been willing to endure so much to protect someone they both loved. There was no doubt in Fíli's mind that their uncle had saved Kíli from pain if not from death itself. _More pain_ , he mentally amended as he watched his brother limp into camp followed closely by Dwalin. No, Fíli couldn't bring himself to hate Thorin, even if he might deserve it. Not after what he did for Kíli.

Kíli. He wasn't sure how he felt about his brother either. He was still hurt by what Kíli had said to him the day before. The words had stung and hit far too close to home for comfort; hadn't Fíli always known that he wasn't worthy of his place in the succession or in the line of Durin? It had felt like Kíli had finally seen the truth. That he had seen past his perfect image of his big brother and seen the weak, cowardly failure below and that Kíli had rejected him for his faults, just as he had always known that their uncle had. If he was honest with himself, he had always feared it.

Kíli was so very like their uncle and Fíli could remember a time when Thorin had been warm to him. He had always feared that someday Kíli would see whatever failing their uncle had seen and turn from his as well, just like he deserved. And then he had. And it had _hurt_. It had hurt to be disowned like that, especially given that what turned Kíli against him was the sacrifice of Fíli's own principles for Kíli's sake. It still hurt that Kíli could say what he had, _think_ what he had. It would probably always hurt but he wasn't angry with Kíli. Not anymore.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that Kíli had only reacted just as he always had. Kíli was predictable. If he was in pain, he lashed out. Afterwards, when he regretted it, he clung to whomever he had lashed out at in an attempt to make up for his mistakes and show his love. That was how it always went. And Fíli had always forgiven him in the past. Kíli had only followed the familiar pattern, this time it was Fíli who had broken it. _He_ had been unpredictable. Rather than forgive Kíli, Fíli had taken his turn to lash out in pain and had hurt his brother. Again, Kíli's reaction could have been predicted. He was hurt, he lashed out. Only, this time, no clinging behavior had followed because Fíli was unpredictable and Kíli feared him.

He felt bitter bile rise up his throat as he realized for the first time that his baby brother _feared_ him. And it was his fault. _He_ was the one who had lashed out at Kíli for trying to help him. _He_ was the one who had sliced open his brother's face and spilled his blood. It was all his fault. His mother and Uncle were wrong. There was something wrong with him. There had to be something wrong with someone who could turn on their own brother as he had. Thoughts of Kíli had summoned the memory of the last time he had been near his brother, as he stormed off to go to their uncle. All he could see was the fear in Kíli's brown eyes and the way his hand had unconsciously crept to the wound on his cheek. Even though the pain and anger at Kíli were still there, they were overshadowed with regret for what Fíli's actions had taken from them. And he had no idea what to do about it.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Upon walking into camp, Kíli noticed two things simultaneously: Fíli had moved away from their uncle and his braids were still out. It didn't make any sense. Kíli had _seen_ their uncle braiding his brother's hair. Why wasn't it braided?

He was vaguely aware of someone pressing a bowl into his hands and him closing them around it, but he didn't touch the food. He couldn't tear his eyes from his brother's unbound blonde hair. Even he had only ever rarely seen it free and dry and now Fíli was sitting in the middle of camp with it hanging loosely around his face before them all. It didn't make sense. Fíli took _pride_ in maintaining his braids. For him to sit there as he was—

"Kíli?" he heard Dwalin say beside him and looked sharply up at his cousin, only just realizing that he had been staring at his brother. "You need to eat," Dwalin said gruffly. Kíli made a noncommittal noise in his throat and went right back to staring at Fíli. This time, Dwalin followed the path of Kíli's eye and realized that the young dwarf hadn't just been staring off into nothing as he had thought.

"Kíli, lad, why are you staring at him?" Dwalin sighed. "Are you _trying_ to arouse his temper? You know how he hates to be stared at."

"His hair's down," Kíli replied as though that explained away why he was doing something that he knew agitated his brother.

"Aye, it is," Dwalin agreed. He had to admit that it was odd as well but none of the others was staring at Fíli and Kíli should have known better that to do it. Especially with Fíli's present unpredictability. "What of it?"

"He never wears it down," Kíli said with the same tone as before, his eyes never straying from his brother.

"No, he doesn't," Dwalin said. "I still don't understand why you're staring at him though, lad."

"He never wears it down," Kíli repeated agitation beginning to creep into his tone that Dwalin was not understanding that  Fíli was doing something so out of his character that Kíli was both perplexed and fascinated by it.

"That doesn't explain what _you're_ doing, Kíli," Dwalin replied, a bit of exasperation creeping into his own tone. Why did Kíli insist on doing something that he _knew_ upset Fíli, regardless of what Fíli himself was doing.

"It's just that . . . I thought Uncle . . . " Kíli trailed off as he felt jealousy stir in his gut and realized _that_ had been what had set him off earlier. It hadn't been concern for his brother as he had believed but rather jealousy that Fíli would allow their uncle the same intimacies that he had so recently denied Kíli in the clearing even after all the disinterest Thorin had had in him over the years. It hadn't been love or fear, it had been petty jealousy. Kíli felt sick at the realization.

"I thought so too, but clearly not," Dwalin said with a shrug, not realizing that Kíli had just had another mini-epiphany. "Go talk to him if it bothers you so much. Maybe he wants some help. With him used to having it back it has to be bothering him and he can't braid with a broken hand."

"No," Kíli whispered brokenly shaking his head for emphasis. "I . . . I don't have the right to ask. Not after what I did."

"Of course you have the right to ask, you little fool!" Dwalin snapped. "You can always offer and if he doesn't want you to, he'll refuse. But you _always_  have the right to ask. Now, get up, go over there, and _ask_ your brother if he wants you to braid his hair." Kíli looked unconvinced but set his bowl down and did as he was told.

He flinched as Fíli glanced up at his approach and felt his mouth go dry. He suddenly knew that he couldn't do this. He couldn't ask what he had come to, not with Fíli looking at him so sadly. This was a mistake. He should just go back to Dwalin and forget about Fíli's hair.

 Fíli watched as Kíli opened and closed his mouth a few times as he waited for his brother to speak. Even once it became clear that Kíli either wouldn't or couldn't, Fíli allowed the silence to stretch between them. When it appeared that Kíli would combust from the pressure, Fíli felt a small smile cross his face before he broke the tension, his voice calm and non-confrontational.

"Do you need something, Kíli, or do you just intend to stand there staring at me?" he asked, wondering just what had gotten into his baby brother.

"I . . . you're hair's loose," Kíli finally managed to choke out.

"It is," Fíli agreed with a shrug. "What of it?"

"Do you . . .that is, can I . . . let me braid it for you," Kíli said, flinching slightly as the last words left his mouth in a rush. He seemed to cringe a bit as he waited for the reply.

"No," Fíli said, the word little more than a snarl. He would _never_ braid his hair again. Not after what he had just been told. Some small part of him hoped, petty as it was, that seeing his hair unbound would cause his uncle some small measure of pain he had caused Fíli over the years. He was so wrapped up in his own bitter thoughts that he didn't see the way that Kíli had reacted to the word. He didn't notice until Kíli spoke and he heard the pain of rejection in his brother's voice.

"I can get someone else to do it for you," Kíli offered quietly, refusing to look at Fíli. "It doesn't have to be me. Maybe Balin would—"

"No, Kíli," Fíli said gently, extending his good hand to his brother with a small smile, "it's not you I'm objecting to. I'm just done with braids. I don't want to wear them anymore. I would like it out of my face though. You can pin it back for me like yours if you'd like."

"I . . . I can?" Kíli asked brightly, a smile breaking out across his face that his brother would let him touch his hair. "You-you'd let me do that?" Hearing the very words that he had spoken to their uncle earlier broke Fíli's heart. Kíli should never have been led to doubt that Fíli would allow him the intimacies he was due as his brother. His own rejection of Kíli in the clearing the day before sprang sharply to his mind and his own words rang in his ears. _He_ was the reason Kíli didn't think he was worthy to or allowed to do it. He was disgusted with himself for making another feel worthless.

"Of course I'd allow it," Fíli replied with a forced brightness as he trampled down his own guilt.  "I . . . I'd even appreciate it. Please, Kíli, will you pin it back for me?" Kíli said nothing but his eager nod and bright smile were answer enough.

As he always was, Kíli was surprised at how much easier to tame Fíli's golden mane of hair was as opposed to his own unruly thatch.

"Ca-Can I ask, why the sudden change, Brother?" Kíli whispered hesitantly. "You've worn braids almost as long as I can remember. Why are you changing it now? I . . . I thought you liked your braids."

"Can I answer that later, Kíli?" Fíli muttered in reply. "I . . . not right now, alright?

"Alright," Kíli agreed, closing the large clasp around his brother's hair and moving to put a bit of space back between them so as not to suffocate Fíli. He wasn't sure how his brother would react to being smothered. Not anymore.

"You will tell me, won't you?" Kíli asked quietly. Once he would never have had to ask it. He would have _known_ that Fíli would tell him anything. Now . . . he didn't' know.

"I will," Fíli promised, brushing back a loose strand of hair that Kíli had missed and putting it behind his ear.  Kíli nodded and turned to go back to where Dwalin sat guarding his still steaming bowl but Fíli wasn't done with him just yet.

"Kíli?" he called and waited for his brother to turn around before he offered him a sad smile. "Thank you." Kíli nodded, returning the smile with a small one of his own before turning once more to go. As he walked away, Kíli's smile became a bit wider and more gentle. Perhaps Dwalin was right. Maybe Fíli didn't hate him after all.

If Dwalin noticed the smile on Kíli's face as the young heir lowered himself carefully to the ground once more, he didn't' say anything. Instead, he handed back Kíli's bowl and allowed him to eat in peace. He did notice that Fíli had no bowl in his hands and none nearby. He exchanged a glance with Balin who, when Dwalin nudged his head towards Fíli, nudged his own towards Thorin. He lifted his own bowl and quirked an eyebrow to ask if Fíli had eaten before he came over and Balin merely shrugged with a sad expression on his face.

With a sigh, the large dwarf got to his feet and walked towards the blonde heir, his own untouched bowl in his hands—he had been too intent on watching Fíli and Kíli, prepared to intervene if necessary, to eat. He didn't miss the way that Fíli relaxed when he glanced up and saw who was standing over him and he ardently wished that he was worthy of Fíli's trust.

"Here," Dwalin muttered handing his bowl to the younger dwarf. "I know you left yours elsewhere and haven't eaten. You said you were hungry so eat."

"I won't take your food," Fíli whispered. "I have my own. If I wasn't too much of a coward to go get it."

"Where is it then?" Dwalin asked. Fíli's eyes flicked towards his uncle and Dwalin sighed. "Did you eat any of it before Thorin upset you?" Fíli looked shocked that Dwalin knew what had happened. He hadn't even been in camp. But the older dwarf simply laughed.

"Fíli, I've known your uncle my entire life," Dwalin said. "I know how he gets when he's in pain. I don't know what he said to upset you but I can promise you he didn't mean it.  When he's wounded, emotionally or physically, Thorin . . . he retreats within himself and then lashes out if you press him."

"Just like Kíli," Fíli muttered shaking his head sadly as he was reminded again just how similar his brother and uncle were. Was Kíli also capable of being as cold as his uncle for no reason at all?

"Just like Kíli," Dwalin agreed. "And that's not the only similarity they share, lad. I learned that today. And do you know what one of the things they share is?" Fíli shook his head. He knew many traits that Kíli and his uncle shared but he wondered which one Dwalin had learned.

"They both love you," the old warrior said with a smile. "Eat that. I'll go fetch yours and see if I can get Thorin out of whatever mood he's in." _What I wouldn't give to have Dís here_ , Dwalin thought with a sigh. She was the best there was when it came to managing her brother's moods and he had a feeling that they desperately needed her now. He hated to think what condition he would find Thorin in and had no idea who could pull him back out if it was as bad as he feared it would be.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Dwalin was right to have feared for Thorin's state of mind. He hadn't moved since Fíli had left. Instead, he remained curled against the tree with Fíli's clasps in his hand, his eyes open but not seeing the forest before them. Instead, his mind was filled with images of a tiny, golden-haired dwarfling looking up at him with unmitigated trust in his blue eyes; eyes that only moments before had been filled with hatred and betrayal. He had done that. He had taken something _good_ and _pure_ and _innocent_ and morphed it into something more like himself: _scarred_ , _damaged_ , _worthless._ Not that he thought that Fíli was worthless. No. Fíli was damaged but he wasn't worthless. No. That was a label that Thorin reserved for himself.

Only someone who was worthless could take the unconditional love of a child and twist it in such a way as to cause that child pain. Only someone who was worthless could make a _child_ —who they professed to love on more than one occasion—feel that they were a failure and unworthy of love. No, if anyone in the world was unworthy of love, Thorin knew that it was himself. Not Fíli. Never Fíli.  

Time and again he had proven it. He was unworthy of his mother's love. Had he been worthy of it, he would have stayed in the mountain that day like she'd asked, he would have helped her to safety rather than stood by with Balin and watched his home and the town of Dale burn. He was unworthy of the love of his siblings. Frerin had died because of him and Dís . . . he had destroyed her _sons_ —her world. Even if she forgave him, he didn't deserve it. He had never deserved her forgiveness, not for the death of their brother, or their father and he certainly did not deserve it for what he had done to Fíli and Kíli.

His precious boys. Oh! How he had proven himself unworthy of their love. Fíli . . . he had broken him long before the events of the Goblin Caves had shattered him. He may have appeared to be whole but his _spirit_ had been broken down by years of never feeling _good_ enough. Never succeeding in accomplishing enough, in his own eyes, to please Thorin who had never bothered to tell Fíli just how _proud_ he was of him. And Kíli . . . he had failed Kíli as well. Through sheltering his nephew he had done him no favors, just as he had accused Dís of doing to Fíli with her coddling. The events since Goblin Town had shown him that. Kíli was too immature. He was so focused on himself that he didnt' see the pain in others until it affected him or was pointed out to him. Thorin felt his heart constrict as he realized just how much of himself was in Kíli. All of his ability to cause pain, to break others, and his little Kíli had inherited it.  

As Thorin thought about it he realized that even if they _did_ succeed in this quest, Erebor ruled by the line of Durin was doomed to fail. He was a fool. He had made so many mistakes in just the lives of his family, how could he ever expect to make the right decisions to rule a people. And it wasn't as if he could just step down. Fíli had the _knowledge_ and the _reason_ but he lacked the conviction and self-assuredness necessary to rule. With what Thorin had done to him . . . Fíli would not be able to rule in his current condition. And even _if_ Thorin could bring himself to wrong Fíli even further by robbing him of his birthright, Kíli was in no better condition to rule. He had the knowledge, he had been educated right beside his brother, but he lacked the emotional and self-disciplinary skills necessary to wield that knowledge. He had the confidence to rule but he was too impulsive, too rash, and made too many decisions based on emotional rather than logic. If Thorin could find a way to somehow crown _both_ of his nephews, it would be perfect. With Fíli's cool head and logical mind to make decisions and Kíli's willpower to enforce them . . . If they could be rolled into one person they would be legendary, the best king the line of Durin had ever produced.

But that was impossible. All they had when he was gone were two deeply flawed individuals that were in line to rule. Even so, they couldn't possibly do worse than he had when it came to personal decisions. No matter how he looked at it, it was his fault. The fall of the kingdom they had yet to claim, the scarring of his nephews. . . he was unworthy of life, let alone kingship and love. It was hopeless. He had nothing left to live for. No kingdom, no kin . . . nothing.

"Thorin, which of these is Fíli's?" he heard Dwalin ask. Thorin didn't answer. He couldn't summon up the energy to do it. It wasn't as if it mattered. Neither of them had been touched and even if Dwalin took them both it was fine. Thorin knew he didn't deserve food. He didn't want it either.

"Are you going to answer me?" Dwalin asked, sighing angrily when he realized that Thorin was not going to answer him any more than he was going to acknowledge his presence. This was worse than he'd feared. Taking one of the bowls for himself and leaving the other beside Thorin in case he changed his mind, he rose and went to search for Balin. There was only one thing left for them to do and he sincerely hoped that two things were true: the first was that he hoped that Dís had been right when she had told him how to fix Thorin if he fell into one of these slumps and the second was that he hoped Kíli was up to the task. He would never forgive himself is he sacrificed yet another child to keep Thorin sane. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we are all, a new chapter. I was asked on FF for a bit of a summary of what each of them are thinking about the other two and themselves so this chapter was born. Kíli kind of had his say in the last on so Thorin and Fíli needed theirs here. 
> 
>  
> 
> As some of you may already know, there will most likely NOT be a new chapter out next week. I have finals and I don't think that I will have time to get one out BUT the good news is that after that I have nearly a month free to write as much as I would like :)


	27. Guilt, Tenderness and an Epiphany

As soon as Dwalin left Thorin's side, he went to Balin. He hated himself for what he was about to do. It was unfair to Kíli and he feared that they were about to make the same mistake with the youngest that they had made with the eldest all those years ago. Kíli didn't need to see Thorin as he was at the moment—no one did— and Dwalin feared that it would destroy Kíli to see his uncle in such a state but it had been what Dís had said to do when this happened, as she had been sure that it would.

**ooOO88OOoo**

_The night before they left Ered Luin, Dís had come to Balin and Dwalin where they sat plotting the trip from the Shire. They were surprised to see her standing there in the middle of the night without her boys but let her in all the same._

_"Dís," Balin said with a smile as he stepped aside to allow her into their home.  "What brings you out so late at night?"_

**_"_ ** _I have a request for you," Dís replied sadly as she sat at the table and took the mug of ale that Dwalin offered her. "I . . . I know that I can't come with you on this quest. Thorin would never allow it. Nor would the boys."_

_"You want us to watch out for your boys?" Dwalin asked offering his cousin an indulgent smile. He understood now why she had left the boys at home. Neither of them would appreciate their mother asking their cousins to look out for them._

_"Dís, you needn't ask. I'll protect them with my life," Dwalin promised, entirely serious._

_"I know," she replied a bitter smile on her face at the fact that she knew Dwalin's promise might be tested. "And they can take care of themselves besides. To kill either of them they would have to kill them both. That's not what I'm here about."_

_"Thorin," Balin said, seeing the pinched look on her face that she only got when she was thinking of her brother. He had seen it before but never to quite this extent._

_"Thorin," she agreed, her voice choked. "He . . . he's not been away from me for so long since . . . since we lost Frerin. I . . . I fear . . . I fear for him. For his mind. I . . . I don't know how well he'll handle being alone, especially if anything goes wrong. **When** Thorin breaks, Kíli will be your only hope of pulling him back out of it." They looked at her in shock. They knew that Thorin favored Kíli but . . . the lad was immature, impulsive. There was no way that he could do what only Dís was capable of and pull her brother back from the dark memories of his past._

_"Wouldn't Fíli be better?" Balin said seriously. "He . . . he's a bit more stable, calmer, more logical. With his own wild temperament, can Kíli handle Thorin when he's at his worst?"_

_"I don't know," Dís replied simply. "Neither of the boys has ever seen him like that. I've seen to it. . . but . . . even if I don't know if Kíli can do it, I know Fíli can't. Thorin won't let him in. Kíli will have to be up to it. It will **have** to be Kíli."_

_"Dís," Dwalin sighed. "Kíli can't do what you're asking of him. He doesn't have it **in** him to bully Thorin back to himself. It will destroy him. He can't fix Thorin the way you always have."_

_"He'll have to be up to it," Dís repeated, tears in her voice as she thought of the unfairness of the task she was setting her youngest to. "He may not do it the way I always have but he **has** to do it. Fíli cannot do this. I promise you that. He will **try** if you ask it of him," she paused taking a deep breath as she composed herself. "He will try and he will fail and then he will blame himself for Thorin's weaknesses. You know I'm right. **Do not** ask this of Fíli. Don't set him up for failure. Kíli can do this. When it needs to be done, use Kíli to reach Thorin. That's partially why I insisted he go. While it's true that he deserves the same chances in life as Fíli, it's not really his archery you need. It's his ability to reach my brother. Kíli's stronger than you give him credit for. He can do this. Trust me."_

**ooOO88OOoo**

They had taken Dís at her word but it had never needed testing until now. Thorin had had a few slips along the way—notably when Fíli and Kíli were nearly drowned in the stream—but he'd never gone quite his far. He'd never gone far enough that Dwalin couldn't reach him to at least get him to talk. He'd almost slipped into the darkness this morning but Fíli had done what Dís said he couldn't and had stopped him.

 Actually, as Dwalin thought more about it,  Thorin hadn't been gone that morning. He'd been going, but he wasn't gone yet. He had still been talking that morning . . . he was still within reach. Fíli had kept him in reach and stayed there as an anchor. Thorin had only lost himself _after_ Fíli had left. Dwalin thought about the angry version of Fíli that had been unleashed since Goblin Town and wondered if Thorin had been the only one saying hurtful things that afternoon. With a sigh he realized that he might need to have a chat with Fíli like the one he had had with Kíli. Shaking his head and deciding to tackle one problem at a time, he spoke.

"Balin," Dwalin said sadly. The white-haired dwarf looked up at his brother's words, the tone telling him everything that he needed to know.

"That bad?" Balin asked with a sigh. Dwalin merely nodded, unable to put into words just how dark a place Thorin was in at the moment. "I know Dís said he can, but that was before all of this happened. Tell me, can Kíli handle this? Is he stable enough?"

"He'll have to be," Dwalin replied with a shrug as though he didn't care, but Balin could see the concern in his brother's dark eyes. "We don't have a choice really, but . . . " Dwalin trailed off looking at Fíli who was staring at nothing with a blank expression on his face that caused the older warrior's heart to constrict painfully as he recognized the same non-expression that he had seen on Thorin's face countless times.

"I . . . someone needs to . . . " Dwalin began unsure how to phrase it. He stopped trying as he felt Balin's hand on his knee.

"I'll take care of Thorin," Balin replied. "Dís said that Kíli probably wouldn't need to bully him. We don't need you for this. Go see to Fíli. If he won't talk to you, send in Bofur and Master Baggins. Fíli might be more willing to talk to a friend than a teacher at the moment."

"Thorin never talked to us," Dwalin argued, "Not when he was truly bothered. He talked to Dís. Do you think that he might—" Dwalin was cut off by Balin's snort.

"You think he'll talk to Kíli after what the lad did to him yesterday?" Balin scoffed. "And here I've always held that you aren't as stupid as you look, Brother. No, Kíli won't help Fíli at the moment. Lad'll be more likely to say something rash and enrage Fíli again. That's the _last_ thing we need at the moment with Thorin already broken and orcs on our tail. No, we can't force them together, Brother. Leave them be."

"I think you are underestimating just how all of this has effected Kíli, Balin," Dwalin said. "He . . . he's matured just overnight. I think that a bit of . . . well, the consequences of his behavior . . . I don't know how to explain it. I spoke with him today and . . . Kíli is smarter than we ever gave him credit for. He _knows_ , Balin. He knows everything. Figured it out on his own and I couldn't lie to him. He knows."

"And Fíli?" Balin breathed hoping that he was still in the dark about just who all had stood by and allowed Thorin's behavior over the years. He knew that the knowledge would do nothing to help the blonde heir in the face of his own brother's betrayal.

Dwalin shook his head, "Kíli doesn't want him to know. Asked me to keep it a secret a while longer." Balin nodded feeling guilty for feeling relieved that Fíli was still in the dark about their betrayal of him. Like his brother, he hoped that they were not sacrificing Kíli just as they had his brother. He wasn't sure that he could bring himself to do it again now that he saw the consequences of such a choice. He truly hoped that Kíli was up to this, and that Dís had been right about her son's ability to reach her brother.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Eventually, Kíli finished picking at his food and set the bowl aside. He hadn't been particularly hungry, the secret he was keeping from his brother twisting within in and begging to be released but he held it in. He knew that Fíli needed to know but he also knew that Fíli didn't need to know _now._ All the same, he had never kept a secret from his brother before, just as Fíli had never kept one from him until that day. The change in their relationship because of what he had done made his insides ache. Part of him wanted to blame anyone else for his mistakes, maybe Thorin for allowing him to be sheltered, but the majority of him knew that it was his own fault. They may have set the bar low for him but he could have strove to be more like his brother. Rather than just aim for the goals they had set for him he could have tried to compete with Fíli as he reached for higher goals. Maybe if he had—

"Kíli," Kíli was pulled out his thoughts by Balin's voice. Balin had to smile at the way Kíli had jumped when he was startled before looking up sheepishly just as he always had when he had been caught daydreaming in lessons. Some things never changed. Then his eyes were drawn to the stitched-red line on the boy's face and he was reminded that nothing was the same anymore.

"Come with me, lad," Balin said extending his hand to the young heir.

"Where are we going?" Kíli asked warily. He didn't want to go talk to Balin as he had Dwalin. He didn't want to rage at Balin and knew that would be the reaction that such a conversation would cause. He wasn't calm enough to discuss this rationally.

"To take care of Thorin," Balin said honestly before he fell into the lie he had come up with to convince the lad. He was pleased when his lie sounded like truth in his own ears. "While you and Dwalin were gone we drew lots and, well, I lost. The second short straw never got drawn so I'm gifting it to you since you didn't get to draw."

"Dwalin didn't draw either," Kíli countered not wanting to go near his uncle until he had a chance to calm down a bit and knew that he wouldn't simply start yelling again and reveal everything. He also wanted to keep his promise to Fíli and knew that if he went near Thorin he wouldn't be able to.

"He helped yesterday," Balin replied moving his extended hand to encourage Kíli to grab it. "It's your turn. Besides, Thorin already refused this once and you're our best hope. He's _never_ been able to deny _you_ anything." Kíli felt anger and nausea twist within him as he realized what Balin was alluding to. He couldn't believe that Balin would invoke their own failings as a means of manipulating him. He shot a quick glance at Fíli, but his brother showed no signs that he had heard or understood what had been said and he breathed a sigh of relief. He would never forgive them if they told Fíli before his brother was ready to know.

"What about Fíli?" Kíli tried desperately, knowing that it was wrong but unable to still the reaction. "Uncle won't deny him anything at the moment either."

"Fíli's hand's broken," Balin said with another small smile. He had anticipated that question. "We'll need both of yours for what we're doing. Now, get up." Kíli mentally scrambled for a moment to find a way out of this but came up with nothing.  He would have to go. And what's more, he would have to see the wounds that had been inflicted on Thorin for his sake. Maybe Balin had more of a motive than just tending to his uncle.

Balin knew the moment that Kíli realized just what this truly meant for him and flinched at the anger in his eyes. He had counted on Kíli not figuring out his second motivation for forcing the young heir to see just how much Thorin had been willing to endure for him and perhaps tricking him back into loving his uncle. He knew that Kíli had a soft heart under all the rashness and that if he saw what Thorin had done for him for love that he would think twice about rejecting his uncle's love over a slight to his brother and he _needed_ Kíli to love Thorin if they had any chance of keeping the king sane. He wasn't sure how well his plan would work with Kíli _knowing_ that was what was going to happen.

 _Maybe Dwalin was right about Kíli's intelligence,_ Balin thought perplexed at the revelation that the dense little dwarfling he had taught was not nearly as dense as he had led them to believe. As Kíli got to his feet wearily, ignoring the hand that Balin had offered him, Balin wondered if he was only seeing Kíli's understanding because he had been looking for it. Kíli cleared that up for him in short order.

"Uncle being more willing to let me do this than anyone else and Fíli's hand being broken aren't the only reasons you want me to come, are they?" Kíli demanded. "I'll still do it, but I think that I deserve the truth. You've _lied_ to me long enough, after all."

"No, lad, they're not," Balin said, shocked at just how forward Kíli was being at the moment and how calm he seemed as he did it, though it was clear that there was fury just below the surface. When had Kíli learned control?

"I thought so," Kíli said with a small bitter laugh. "What do you want me to do?" Balin was more shocked to realize that Kíli meant physically, he wasn't asking about Balin's motivations towards having him go. He already knew that answer.

"Grab that pot of water on the fire and come with me," Balin said simply. Kíli nodded and did as he was told, schooling his features into a mask of polite indifference that still left the older dwarf floored at the change in the young heir. With a shake of his head, Balin led the way to Thorin's side, knowing that Kíli would follow.

And follow he did. Thought at his first sight of his uncle he wished that he had refused. Thorin was seated on the ground, facing away from camp, leaning against the tree and curled in on himself as if seeking warmth or protection. He had never seen his uncle like this before—so defeated and so clearly weak—and it caused him nearly physical pain to see him in such a state now. _This is our fault,_ Kíli thought as he watched his uncle. _My fault_.

Balin was clearly disturbed by the sight before him as well, if the tense, clipped quality to his voice was anything to go by.

"Thorin," Balin snapped. "We're here to tend your wounds and we're not leaving 'til we've done it. Don't try to argue that treating you will only slow us down. We took a vote and we won't move again until you've been treated."

"What's the point?" Thorin asked in a weak passionless voice. "I have nothing to live for. Fíli and Kíli hate me. Dís will side with her sons. Even if we succeed in this suicide mission Erebor will not persevere. There's no point to any of it."

"I don't know if that's true or not," Balin said honestly. "I don't know the minds of those lads or of Dís and I make no claim to be a seer. But either way, I don't intend to be the one to explain to your sister that I allowed you to die when it was preventable. Since it doesn't matter to you either way, let me keep you alive to save my own skin."

"She won't kill you," Thorin whispered. "And if she does it will only be because you allowed me to die before she could kill me herself."

"All the same, I intend to keep you alive until such a time as Dís does decide to kill you, _if_ she does," Balin replied. "Even if I have to do it by force. Thorin, you can't fight us. Not in your present condition. You may as well allow us to treat you and keep your dignity intact rather than resist and be subdued before you are treated."

"I _will not_ be forced into this by you and Dwalin," Thorin snarled, enraged that they would throw his weakened state back in his face. "So you can both just go—"

"I don't have Dwalin with me, Thorin," Balin cut him off before Thorin could launch into what was sure to be a creative location for him and his brother to go. "I have Kíli." The words had the effect that he had known they would and he watched as the angry tension left Thorin's shoulders and he raised his head.

"Kíli?" Thorin breathed, turning his head to look at them as if he would only believe what Balin said if he saw it with his own eyes. The hope in his uncle's blue eyes hit Kíli like a fist to the gut. He had _never_ seen Thorin this open and he felt acutely embarrassed, almost as if he was seeing something he wasn't meant to. He could think of nothing to say so instead he offered his uncle a sad, weak smile.

Thorin felt the first stirrings of hope in his gut as the shattered pieces of his heart began trying to mend again. He knew that he wasn't forgiven. Kíli was still angry with him; he could see it in the set of his jaw and the tension around his eyes and his paltry excuse for a smile but Kíli had at least cared enough to come with Balin. He might not love him as he once had but he didn't wish him dead. With a defeated sigh, Thorin nodded.

"Make it quick," he said looking away from his angry nephew. "We need to keep moving. I still say this delay is unnecessary."

"We'll be as quick as we can," Balin promised. "Kíli, set that pot there where we can both reach it but he won't kick it over if he twitches." Kíli did as he was told and knelt on the other side of Balin awaiting further instructions.

"We're going to remove his shirt," Balin said. "On my signal, pull it off. Don't stop once you get started. It may have stuck to the bandages but it won't pull them up. Just keep going. Understand?" Kíli nodded and gripped the hem of his uncle's shirt. Locking eyes with the younger dwarf, Balin nodded and the two of them pulled the back of the shirt rapidly over Thorin's head before working it more gently over his arms. Even so, the motion left Thorin panting and it nearly brought tears to Kíli's eyes to see Thorin in such pain over so little a thing.

"Don't just sit there looking at him, lad," Balin barked, shocking Kíli and stilling his tears. "Start on the bandages. Remove them and set them aside. Glóin is going to come and fetch them and bring fresh. Be gentle here, lad. If they're stuck, don't just rip them up. You'll damage the healing below. Soak them if you have to. There's a stream nearby and Óin's heating more water for when this is too soiled to continue."

Kíli nodded and began working on the bandage closest to him, trying not to think about what would be soiling the water so that they needed fresh. This bandage had bled through and needed to be soaked before it would come free. When it did, he wished that it hadn't. As the cloth pulled free, Kíli's eyes were assaulted with the sight of angry burned flesh. And not a small burn either. It was a long patch of livid red running the length of his uncle's ribcage. Without thinking about it, he reached out and gently touched the red skin before leaning his head against his Uncle's purple shoulder.

He remembered this one. He had been the one to cause it. He breathed heavily for a moment trying to press back the memories of his uncle's cries of pain as he had pressed the knife against his flesh again and again. This had been the one that the Goblin had insisted on seeing bone on. And he had. Kíli could remember the feeling of the knife bouncing against the bones as it crossed his uncle's ribs. He felt bile rise in the back of his throat at the memory and opened his eyes, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than relive what he had done. As he looked again, he realized that even though he remembered this one it hadn't looked like this. It hadn't been a burn. There had only been one burn in Goblin Town.

"Wh-what happened here?" Kíli asked his voice sounding impossibly young even to his own ears. Even as he asked it, he remembered his uncle's cries of pain as they had been 'hunting.'

"They had to sear it closed," Thorin panted out, stopping with a hiss as Balin wiped at a wound on his other side. "I could-couldn't continue losing so m-much blood."

"Bu . . . but they _burned_ you!" Kíli exclaimed glaring at Balin. "That . . . that's not healing! It's torture!"

"It . . . it is," Thorin disagreed. "It's not a pre-preferred method but—Mahal! Balin at least _try_ to be gentle!—when there's no other choice it works."

"But—"

"They couldn't have sewn them all, little one," Throin panted. "We . . . we didn't have time. And it wouldn't have stopped . . . stopped the blood. It's torture but it's . . . it's better than the alternative."  There was silence for a moment save for Thorin's labored breathing as Balin and Kíli worked to clean the wounds. They hadn't even finished half of them when Thorin stopped them.

"Please," he panted,  "Need . . . a minute. . . can . . . can't breathe."

"Alright, Thorin," Balin said. "Just lean back and try to relax. I'll go change out the water and take these bandages to Glóin. Stay with him," he ordered Kíli. Kíli nodded and helped Thorin to lean back against the tree as Balin took the water and walked away.

As Kíli watched his uncle struggling to catch his breath he tried to sort through his feelings towards Thorin. With ever wound that had been revealed, Kíli had felt sicker and more conflicted. He hadn't actually seen just how many wounds Thorin had endured. He had known that they had been numerous, but with all the blood covering him he hadn't realized just how numerous. With his skin clean . . . it was clear just how many there were. And they had all been for his sake.

As he was confronted with the full extent of his uncle's love for him, Kíli felt guilty for how he had behaved toward his uncle that morning. And he hated Balin for it. He knew that this had been what the older dwarf had been trying to do but it didn't change the fact that it had worked. The pity and gratitude that he felt towards his uncle for being willing to endure pain so he didn't have to warred with the resentment he felt for Thorin's treatment of his brother and left him feeling nauseous.

With every new burn, or cut that was revealed to him, Kíli felt his resentment for Thorin begin to fade. How could he hate someone who had been willing to sacrifice so much for his sake. Had his uncle have wanted to, he could have stood aside and allowed Kíli to be tortured. But instead he had offered himself in Kíli place. If it weren't for his uncle, it would be Kíli that had been repeatedly cut and stabbed and burned. He would be the one leaning against a tree struggling for air. If what Thorin had done wasn't a sign of love Kíli didn't know what was and he was having difficulties remaining angry with his uncle in the face of it. But at the same time: Fíli.

He loved his brother and he had already betrayed him once. His uncle had hurt Fíli. He had made him feel unloved, unworthy and had sacrificed Fíli for Kíli in the caves but Fíli himself had admitted that he would have done what he did without Thorin's prompting. He'd even said that _he_ had been the one to tell the Uncle that he would do whatever it took to keep Kíli safe. But Fíli was angry with their uncle and Kíli loved his brother so . . . didn't he have to be angry with their uncle for Fíli's sake? He was torn, the compassion and love and gratitude he was feeling for Thorin feeling like a betrayal of Fíli's trust.

"Where . . . where did you and . . . Dwalin get off to . . . earlier?" Thorin asked, cracking a blue eye open to look at Kíli and distract himself from the pain in Kíli's chatter. He didn't take into account the fact that Kíli didn't feel up to chatter at the moment.

"Nowhere really," Kíli replied quietly, his tone tense and distracted as his mind was focused on his own inner turmoil rather than his conversation with his uncle. "We just went into the forest."

"Wanted a . . . closer look at nature?" Thorin asked with a single painful laugh that led to a weak coughing fit. As his eyes drifted closed once more, he saw instead a tiny dwarfling looking up at him with apologetic brown eyes as he offered the same excuse for disappearing on an outing.

Kíli, too, smiled at the memory. He remember how his uncle's eyes had gone wide with shock at his explanation before they had narrowed and he had shook his head snarling not to disappear again and stalking away only to come in later that night when he thought that Kíli was asleep and apologizing for yelling and saying that he had only done it because he was so scared to lose him. His smile faded as the thought crossed his mind that he wished things were still so simple.

"No," Kíli replied, his sorrow for the loss of simplicity present in his tone. "I wasn't looking for nature this time. I've seen more than enough of it now. He . . . he wanted to _talk_ to me about how I've been treating you and Fíli." At that explanation Thorin's eyes shot open and he looked more closely at Kíli for any sign of injury. He and Dwalin had had many 'talks' over the years and he knew Dwalin's preferred method of driving a point home but Kíli seemed unharmed and a good deal calmer that he had before. That was a good thing but the sadness Thorin could see in him now . . . it hurt him to see his wild little Kíli so still and sad.

"He shouldn't've done that," Thorin whispered. "As my heir it's _my_ responsibility to . . . to take you to task . . . over wrongdoings . . . not his." Thorin fully intended to have words with Dwalin about having done it as soon as he felt he could do it without taking all day about it.

"Would you have?" Kíli asked in a small voice, looking up at Thorin through the fringe of his hair. Thorin was shocked at the question. Had it been Fíli, he could have seen it. Fíli always asked questions constantly but Kíli . . . questions from him were rare. The more the king thought about it, the more he saw that it was a legitimate question.

"Most likely not," Thorin said honestly. As he thought back he realized that he could only really remember lecturing Kíli and that only a handful of times. If he had ever needed _punishing_ Dís had always been the one to do it.

Kíli nodded with a small smile on his face. Thorin was spared having to come up with a new topic for them to discuss by Balin's return. Thorin moved to try to sit up again only to be stopped by Balin's hand on his shoulder.

"Just stay there," Balin said kneeling beside his wounded king once more. "We can do this without you moving for a bit." Thorin nodded and leaned back against the tree as Kíli and Balin began cleaning once more. The way that Thorin's breath hitched as the cloth in Kíli's hand grated over his wounds broke Kíli's heart. Every time he had to pause to wash his uncle's blood from the cloth, a bit of his confusion abated, washed away with the blood. And eventually he came to a realization: there was no reason he couldn't love them both.

Why shouldn't he be able to? They both loved him. They had both proved it. Why did he have to choose? Was he really required to hate Thorin _for_ Fíli? Suddenly the answer came to him. He had said it to Dwalin just a bit earlier. This situation was truly no different. He had told Dwalin that he could neither offer forgiveness or take vengeance in Fíli's name . . . this was the same. He could love both Fíli and Thorin without betraying either of them. On the tale of that realization came regret at his earlier actions towards Thorin.

"I'm sorry, Uncle," Kíli said suddenly, just as he cleaned a particularly tender burn and a choked sob broke free from Thorin's throat.

"There's nothing to  . . . apologize for, Kíli," Thorin gasped. "You . . . you're only trying . . . to help."

"For my behavior this morning," Kíli clarified. "I shouldn't have . . . I'm sorry."  To say that Thorin was shocked would have been an understatement. Kíli _never_ apologized unless it was in an attempt to avoid a punishment, but none had been threatened here. This was an unsolicited apology.

"Would this . . . have anything to do . . . with your . . . conversation . . . with Dwalin?" Thorin asked pausing between statements to try to catch his breath. Kíli gave a small laugh as he and Balin set down their cloths to give Thorin a chance to recover once more.

"Does it matter?" Kíli asked, a warm smile on his face. Thorin smiled in reply and made to raise his hand to place it on Kíli's cheek only to stop with a wince as his injured shoulder refused to move. Kíli smile fell as he gently took his uncle's hand in his own and slowly raised it to his own cheek offering his uncle a shaky smile.

"Thank you, Kíli," Thorin whispered stroking his nephew's cheek with his thumb. He felt more than saw Kíli smile and felt as he pressed into the caress. Thorin knew that he didn't deserve what Kíli was offering him but he was more than willing to take the forgiveness that was being offered. Even if Fíli and Dís never spoke to him again, at least Kíli was still there. Even _if_ Erebor was a fool's dream, Kíli believed in him and loved him. Even if no one else did, this was enough. It was more than he deserved for what he had done and he would take what he could get. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience while I got school out of the way. I hope that this update was worth the wait!


	28. A Misunderstanding, an Epiphany and an Offer

Fíli was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't react even when Dwalin stood directly above him. Had Dwalin not already suspected that something was wrong, this would have solidified it. Fíli had always been difficult to sneak up on, years of living with the terror that was Kíli making his senses sharper than normal. That had been one combat skill that Fíli had never needed taught and for him to be so out of it now . . . it didn't bode well for his state of mind.

"Fíli?" Dwalin said when he was still out of range of a sword in case he startled the lad, praying to anyone that would listen that Fíli would respond. He did. His head shot up, a questioning noise in his throat before his blue eyes focused on Dwalin and a smile forced its way onto his face.

"Dwalin," Fíli said by way of greeting. If Dwalin hadn't known the lad better he would have thought that his smile was genuine. "Do you need something?"

"I actually thought that you might, lad," the older warrior replied. "Can I sit or would you prefer to go somewhere more private?"

"I don't know what you mean," Fíli said, confusion clear on his face. "What do you think I need and why would we need to go somewhere private?" Dwalin looked at him a moment more. The boy sounded normal and seemed calm but underneath that the older dwarf could see the same turmoil that he so frequently saw in Thorin and it nearly broke his heart to realize just how destroyed Fíli had become.

"I think you know exactly what I mean, Fíli," Dwalin said sitting beside him and opting for the direct approach that had always worked so well on both Kíli and Thorin. He hoped it would work on Fíli, but he wasn't sure as he had never really needed _talking to_. "I think you and I need to talk about whatever happened between you and Thorin earlier." Whatever reaction Dwalin had been expecting, much like with Kíli earlier, it wasn't what he received.

"I _don't_ want to talk about that!" Fíli snapped, his tone filled with more venom than Dwalin knew that sweet, docile Fíli was capable of. "I don't want to talk about _him_. I don't want to talk about _any_ of it."

"I think you need to, lad," Dwalin said bit nervously as he realized that he had made a mistake with using  this approach on  Fíli and had only succeeded in making him feel trapped and angry but unable to back down now. "You can't let these things simmer. I know the two of you exchanged hurtful words and—"

"He said that, did he?" Fíli demanded, his voice harsh with emotion. "Said _I_ was hurtful?" He barked out a bitter breathy laugh. "That _I_ hurt him?! Did he tell you what he told me?" Fíli's tone faded at the end and suddenly it was a vulnerable dwarfling rather than an enraged young dwarf that sat beside Dwalin.

"Did . . . did he tell you that . . . " Fíli trailed off, unable to continue without breaking into tears at his own failures and his uncle's revelation. He didn't want to cry. Not anymore. Instead he allowed anger to once more fill him so that he didn't have to feel the pain of his uncle having never really seen him.

"What did Thorin do, lad?" Dwalin prompted, placing a hand on Fíli's shoulder. "What cruel thing did he say?"

"Nothing," Fíli snapped pushing Dwalin's hand away and standing to move away from the larger dwarf, unable to stand being comforted. Not by someone who could _never_ understand what he was feeling. Dwalin hadn't been regulated to nothing more than his lineage by someone he counted as a parent. Dwalin hadn't been led to believe that he was a disappointment by someone who's approval he had _craved_. He hadn't been led to believe that _nothing_ he could do was good enough while Balin could do nothing wrong as Fíli had with Kíli. Dwalin could _never_ understand. No one could. Not even Kíli. Especially not Kíli. That knowledge angered Fíli. Never before would he have said that Kíli could not understand something that effected him so deeply.

"He did nothing!" Fíli yelled storming away from Dwalin and the things that he made Fíli confront while thinking of all the things that Thorin had never done for him or allowed him to do growing up that Kíli had been allowed to do. It was with a sudden cold comprehension that Fíli realized that while he had a brother and a mother, he, _Fíli_ had no uncle. He never had. Thorin had never been an uncle to him. Not like he had for Kíli. For him, Thorin had been a King grooming his heir, not an uncle raising his nephew. It wasn't a happy realization and it left him feeling dead inside.   

"Lad!" Dwalin called climbing to his feet and grabbing Fíli's arm to stop him even though Fíli had already stopped under the weight of his epiphany. "You _need_ to talk about this. Don't let it fester. That won't do _anyone_ any good, Fíli. What did your uncle _say_?"

"Nothing," Fíli replied again pulling free with a look of disdain on his face. "My _uncle_ said nothing. I don't _have_ an uncle. I have a king. Just as he has one nephew and one heir. Thorin is my king. Nothing more." With another glare Fíli moved to walk off once more and this time Dwalin didn't stop him. He was too shocked by what had just been said. Had _Thorin_ said that to Fíli!? Where else would the boy have come up with it? He felt rage boil within him that Thorin would _dare_ to say something like that to his nephew.

He turned towards Thorin, intending to ask just what had gotten into his head to make him think that it was acceptable to say things like that to someone who loved him as much as Fíli did. His king or no, Dwalin did not intend to silence his displeasure on this matter. As he had told Kíli, Fíli and Thorin were his cousins. It wasn't a relationship he evoked often but he fully intended to at the moment.

As he neared them, Thorin's voice, weak, thready and pleading, hit his ears.

"Please," he panted, "Need . . . a minute. . . can . . . can't breathe."

At that quiet plea, the fight went out of Dwalin. He couldn't confront Thorin on this. Not now. Not when he was barely hanging onto life let alone sanity. It wasn't as if yelling at him would erase what he had said at any rate. The damage had been done. None of them could erase the past. Though if Dwalin could . . . he would do it in a heartbeat. He didn't know what it was but there _had_  to have been a different way they could have handled this. Surely Fíli hadn't _had_ to be broken for a few more years of Thorin remaining sane.

"Alright, Thorin," he heard Balin. "Just lean back and try to relax. I'll go change out the water and take these bandages to Glóin. Stay with him," Before Dwalin could move, Balin had come around the tree with a pot of bloody water and an armful of bloody bandages. Where before, they had made Dwalin pity Thorin for what had happened, now they made him questions what would have happened had Fíli been the one threatened; would Thorin have been so willing to sacrifice himself for his _heir_ as he had been for his _nephew_?

His brother's eyes widened at the sight of him and he mouthed, 'Fíli?' to which Dwalin shook his head and gestured back towards camp. Once they were far enough away that a quite conversation would not carry, Balin spoke.

"What happened?" he asked, taking in Dwalin's furious expression and wondering what had upset his brother so. Surely Fíli hadn't managed to enrage him; Kíli hadn't even managed that and Dwalin had always had more patience for Fíli. They all had.

"I found out what Thorin said to upset Fíli," Dwalin bit out. " _Apparently_ , Thorin only thinks he has one nephew."

"Then what does he think Fíli is?" Balin asked needing no clarification as to which of the boys was the one Thorin claimed as a nephew.

"An _heir_ ," Dwalin snarled, the words burning his throat as they came up.

"Durin's beard," Balin breathed. "And he _said_ that?! _To_ Fíli?!" Dwalin said nothing but his silence was damning. This was more than even Balin's even temper could take. It was bad enough that Thorin had pushed Fíli too hard from too young an age but _this!_ This was beyond unacceptable. For the first time, Balin had no pity whatsoever for Thorin. Yes, his life had been a difficult one. It had been cruel. It had been full of loss, but _this_. And then he had the _audacity_ to cite the boys hating him as a reason to let him die? Was he surprised? Of _course_ Fíli hated him after hearing something like that.

 _Maybe Thorin **is** right about what Dís is going to do to him,_ Balin thought with a disappointed shake of his head. _She will take an axe to him for this. And this time, I won't stop her. Might even hand her the axe myself._

**ooOO88OOoo**

After Fíli stormed away from Dwalin, he walked a little way into the woods to be alone. He didn't go far, still within shouting distance if something came up either at camp or there, but out of sight of the others.  He sank to the ground, not even bothering to try to find something to sit on and put his head in his hands. How had it come to this? Just two days ago, he had been happy. He had known who he was, who he could trust, and who loved him. Now? Now he had none of that.

Who was he? Was he Fíli, son of Dís, daughter of Thráin, sister-son of Thorin Oakenshield or was he simply Fíli, son of Dís and heir of King Thorin II Oakenshield. Was what he had said to Dwalin the truth? Did Thorin only view him as an heir to be molded and not a nephew to be loved? In the past two days he had said things that made Fíli believe that he loved him. In fact, he'd said everything that Fíli had ever wanted to hear and more. He was struck once again but the fear and pain in Thorin's eyes as he had spoken that day.

Suddenly Dwalin's words from just a bit earlier rang in his head: _"Just like Kíli," Dwalin had agreed. "And that's not the only similarity they share, lad."_ Not the only similarity they shared. Fíli found himself wondering if his uncle also shared Kíli's habit for attempting to get out of trouble. When Kíli was caught doing something he knew he wasn't supposed to be, his brother somehow always knew just what to say to get back out of. Was Thorin doing the same thing now? Had he just said what he knew that Fíli wanted to hear to keep Fíli loyal?

Fíli shook his head, not wanting to believe that the dwarf that he had known his entire life was capable of such a thing but then he remember Thorin claiming not to have known he had done it and felt rage and doubt boil within him. How did Thorin expect him to believe that he hadn't known what he was doing? It had been clearly obvious to both Fíli and his mother and she had said more than once that she would talk to him about it. He _had_ to have known. Even Balin . . .

Fíli's thoughts stopped there, as suddenly as if he had been struck. _Balin_ had known. He had confronted Thorin about it. Thorin himself had said so. Balin had known. Fíli wondered just how long he had known. And if Balin had known . . .that meant . . . did Dwalin know too? Fíli suddenly felt as betrayed as he had when Kíli had turned on him in the caves. Betrayed and . . . vaguely nauseous. He crept toward camp, near enough that he could see but not be seen and watched them interact for a moment.

They all seemed quiet, subdued almost. Dwalin and Balin had their heads together and seemed to be having a rather animated private discussion. Fíli was certain that they both knew. He doubted they had secrets between them. But who else knew. He glanced at his cousins and saw the worried look that Óin and Glóin were shooting Balin and Dwalin as they sat near the fire. He knew that it was possible that they were just worried about the bloody bandages that Balin was carrying but to Fíli's suspicious mind, they were worried because they had known as well. That still didn't tell him much. Of course his cousins would know but did any of the others? And how long had those that knew known? Surely not long. Surely they cared enough for him that had they known they would have stopped it; didn't they?

Fíli wasn't sure. He curled in on himself as the horrible question came to mind. What if they all knew? What if they'd _always_ known? What if they had stood by and let it happen because Fíli didn't matter to them? Could they have done that? Was he truly so worthless and unworthy that they could abandon him? Had they all lied to him his entire life? And then came the all important question: did his mother know about all of this? He knew that she knew about Thorin's coldness but _this_ . . . that everyone else knew, did she know that? He felt his very _soul_ scream at the idea that his mother could have betrayed him like that and he pushed it away. She wouldn't have. She _couldn't_ have. His mother loved him. That was the one thing that he was still sure of. She could never betray him. Not like Kíli, or Thorin or any of the others. His mother hadn't known about this. He couldn't believe it.

A sound behind him startled Fíli suddenly and he turned, dagger in hand and chest heaving to meet whatever was coming, only to meet Bilbo's frightened brown eyes: eyes a shade lighter than Kíli's but close enough to make Fíli feel more terrible for frightening him than he did already.

"I'm sorry, Bilbo," Fíli whispered sheathing the dagger once more. "You startled me."

"I called to you a couple of times," Bilbo said relaxing a bit at Fíli's calm tone, though he still looked skittish. "Didn't you hear me?" Fíli shook his head and Bilbo nodded, a small sad smile on his face.

"You were probably distracted," Bilbo offered, knowing how these dwarves prided themselves on their survival skills. Fíli hummed, unable to find words for it and looked away from Bilbo.

"Fíli . . . I-I don't pretend to understand what you're going through," the hobbit offered quietly. "You, or Kíli or Thorin. It's not something that I _can_ understand." Fíli looked at him sharply and Bilbo began fidgeting nervously with a loose thread on his coat sleeve.

"I-I mean . . . I don't have any siblings," Bilbo explained, though Fíli already knew this having extensively discussed families with the hobbit at the start of this ill-fated quest. "E-even if I did . . . nothing like-like _this_ ever would have happened in the Shire."

"Nothing like this happens in Ered Luin either," Fíli said sadly, the bit of lie tasting bitter on his tongue. Some of it had happened in Ered Luin after all. This wasn't a new problem, not really. Aspects of it, yes, but the problem itself . . . that was _decades_ in the making. Bilbo nodded, not seeing the lie for what it was as he didn't know that Fíli's accusations the day before had been true and still believing them to be the angry statements of a hurt young dwarf.

"Even so," Bilbo sighed moving forward cautiously, his stance making it clear that he was prepared to run at a moment's notice and Fíli felt his heart clinch that Bilbo would fear him like this. He knew that he would never hurt Bilbo. _Just as you'd never hurt Kíli?_  a vicious part of himself whispered but he shook it off. That thought, along with Bilbo's fear, was too painful for him to address at the moment. Though h did suppose that he understood Bilbo.

If he could lash out at Kíli, who was safe. Surely not a little hobbit with no skills with a blade. In a flash of memory, he remembered the fear in even _Dwalin's_ eyes just a bit ago. It seemed he'd made _everyone_ fear him. That was a very sobering though and it made him sad to think that people feared him. He didn't' want to be feared. But despite the clear fear there, Bilbo continued coming and even went as far as to reach out a quivering hand and lay it on his arm.

 It wasn't until Bilbo was right at his elbow, with one hand on his forearm that the hobbit spoke again.

"I _do_ know, from what I've heard—not that I was eavesdropping, you know but—"

"I know everyone has heard more than enough of my family's fights," Fíli said gently, feeling shame flood him that they had fought so publicly over something that was so private a matter.

"And I'm not trying to replace your brother or your uncle," Bilbo continued nervously. "I know that I can't and I would never endeavor to try. But . . . well, I know that you're related to nearly half the company and have known the rest as well. If you need to talk to someone you're _not_ related to  . . . I _will_ listen. I can't promise that I'll understand it, even if you do stay in Westron, but . . . I'll listen all the same." Fíli smiled at the cautious offer and raised his left hand to grip Bilbo's right bicep, squeezing it gently.

"I'll keep that in mind if I ever need to talk," Fíli replied bowing his head at the kindness this hobbit, who had no real attachment or obligation to him was showing. It pained him even more in the face of the potential and actual betrayals of all those he called kin.

Bilbo hummed and bowed his head in response, thinking it the thing to do. "Bilbo Baggins, at your service," he said a small smile on his face as he remember the united front of Fíli and Kíli storming through his door like twin whirlwinds and wreaking nearly as much havoc on his orderly home. His smile turned sad as he realized they may never do anything like that again. Fíli smiled too, sharing the same memory before his mind went to the same place as Bilbo's.

"Fíli, son of Dís, at yours," Fíli replied with a sad laugh. "That is, _if_ you ever need me. I've offered you my service before and you've yet to need it. In fact, my brother and I have gotten you _into_ more trouble than we've gotten you out of. Some 'service' that is."

"I disagree," Bilbo said with a laugh. "You've been helpful. How else would I ever have gotten on a pony? I assure you I wouldn't have done it myself." Despite himself, Fíli laughed, his first real laugh since before the Goblin Caves.

"All the same, I hope to one day aid you in more than simply mounting a pony," Fíli said offering Bilbo yet another bow, with a melodramatic flair this time as his mood improved slightly. As he stood, his hand unconsciously moved to put his braids behind his ear once more only to touch nothing. He cautiously touched to the side of his head, a small frown on his face at the smooth hair he encountered there and the loss of something he had once considered a part of him.

"It looks good," Bilbo said quietly. "Different but good. I'm sure you had your reason for changing it at any rate, though I do have to say that you look more like Kíli than I realized without the braids. If he had a mustache and your hair was dark . . . I'm sorry . . . did I offend you?" Bilbo pulled back slightly. Fíli's expression had darkened frighteningly at the mention of dark hair and the hobbit found himself wondering if this was one of those dwarf things that he'd never understand. Was their identity tied to their hair color as it was their beards?

"No. You didn't offend me. You only surprised me. Not many can see any resemblance between my brother and me. The differences in coloration see to that. At any rate, thank you for the compliment. I will admit I'm a bit self-conscious about the change," Fíli said visibly recomposing himself and nudging towards camp with his head. "Come on, let's get back before they start to worry that I've harmed you."

"Oh, Fíli!" Bilbo snapped swatting the dwarf lightly. "They'd never think that!"

Fíli said nothing, but his quiet, bitter laugh and wry smirk said it for him. What Bilbo saw there was 'Think what you'd like but we both know they would."

Seeing that Fíli truly believed that the others would think him capable of harming one of the company upset Bilbo. Surely Fíli didn't' think that they thought so poorly of him. Did he? Even once they were back among the group, he sat in uncharacteristic silence as he wondered just what was actually going on in Fíli's head. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back to spoiling y'all again :) What's it been, two, three days? Anyway . . . I couldnt' leave it where I did so, new chapter! I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> and I know that some of you like knowing what I was listening to when I wrote things so here's what was in the background while this chapter was being written: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=st1vVohrHRo


	29. A Paltry Explanation and a Revocation of Kinship

As soon as the last bandage was back in place, Balin stood. He looked speculatively at Kíli and Thorin for a moment before picking up the pot and heading back to camp.

"Get him dressed and on his feet, Kíli," he called over his shoulder. "When you're done, you two start moving. I'll tell the rest to pack up and we'll catch up to you." Kíli blinked at the coolness of Balin's tone. As the older dwarf stalked off, he realized that after he came back with supplies he never said a single word to his uncle.

"Balin, I . . . I can't—" Kíli tried to protest his ability to get his uncle to his feet. Kíli could barely get _himself_ to his feet, let alone another person that couldn't do much on their own. But Balin paid him no mind and kept walking as though Kíli had said nothing. It seemed that he wanted nothing more than to put as much distance between himself and Thorin as he could.

"What was that about?" Kíli muttered.

"I have no idea," Thorin replied looking at his shirt with a grimace and wondering if it would truly be so dreadful for him to go without. It wasn't as if he wasn't mostly covered anyway. There were enough bandages there to nearly cover his entire torso and it wasn't as if the shirt would provide any kind of protection against injury. At that thought, all he could think was that he was thankful that all Fíli had removed before he walked away was the braids. He had still wore the mail the last time Thorin had seen him.

"If I have to wear clothing so do you, Uncle," Kíli said with a laugh seeing the dark glare that Thorin was leveling at the blue cloth. "I like this situation no more than you do."

"Your mother didn't have to sew your shirt to your pants this time, did she?" Thorin asked with a smile as he remember Kíli's 'clothing-is-bad' phase as a child and Dís' creative solution to her son stripping off clothing everywhere he went.

"No," Kíli said a bright smile on his face as he tried to shrug only to stop with a wince as it pulled his wounds. "She did threaten to though. Something about the embarrassment she would feel if I became a  'naked princling running wild through the woods without braids like an animal bringing shame to the line of Durin.' Her words, not mine. I see nothing wrong with a bit of nudity." Thorin snorted at Kíli's statement. He well knew that Kíli and modesty were not synonymous.

"Are there any societal mores you _do_ approve of, little one?" Thorin asked with a laugh.

"Not really," Kíli replied. "You know I don't really like ceremony." Thorin nodded, saddened by the fact that Kíli really had no choice in the matter. Just as Fíli hadn't. They couldn't change the circumstances of their birth or their appearances. Sensing the change in his uncle's mood, Kíli changed the subject.

"So . . . let's get that shirt on you, shall we?"  Kíli said, with a sigh. "I may as well have done one of the things Balin told me to. Don't want to be a complete failure after all."

"You're _not_ a failure," Thorin snapped, thinking of what Fíli had said a bit ago.

"I know," Kíli replied, his tone revealing his shock at his uncle's vehemence. "It was a joke, Uncle."

"It wasn't funny, Kíli!" Thorin snarled.

"I'm sorry," Kíli whispered looking at his uncle in confusion. He'd joked about being a failure before and his uncle had never gotten angry with him for it. Said he wasn't a failure, of course, but never gotten _angry_ about it. Even his reaction to the bit about the nighttime orc raid hadn't been this bad.

"Uncle?" Kíli asked cautiously. Thorin turned to him with pain-filled blue eyes and Kíli had to swallow to control himself. Somehow what he had said had hurt his uncle deeply. He wasn't sure how. He knew now that words could hurt but it had been so little; was his uncle truly so fragile?

"I really am sorry," Kíli repeated. "Do you . . . do you forgive me?" In that moment, Kíli looked so much like he had years ago when he was pleading for forgiveness that Thorin couldn't resist him, especially since it wasn't truly Kíli that he was angry with: it was himself for allowing Fíli to believe that he was a failure and never realizing that he had done it.

"There's nothing to forgive, little one," Thorin replied gripping Kíli's hand with his own. "Now, let's try to do as we were told. Though for issuing orders to us like that I should go naked just to spite him." Kíli laughed again, his moods shifting like quicksilver and the hurt disappearing in seconds just as it always had.

"What of your reputation, Uncle?" Kíli asked as he slipped the shirt over Thorin's arms as carefully as he could.

"I'm not sure that my reputation can be sullied any more than it already has, Kíli," Thorin said sadly, all trace of good humor gone. "Not after . . . Not since . . ." Kíli wanted to tell Thorin that he was wrong and that everything would be fine and that no one thought any less of him for the whole situation, but he couldn't. His uncle had erred. Greatly. And everyone knew. Instead he offered him what comfort he could.

"Nothing's changed for most of the company, Uncle," Kíli said quietly, unable to look at his uncle as he admitted that he knew the truth. He no longer wanted to rage at Thorin but that didn't stop him from feeling sad and disappointed in all of them—himself included— for failing Fíli as they had.

"What do you mean?" Thorin demanded sharply letting out a hiss as Kíli pulled his shirt over his head and straightened it.

"They knew," Kíli whispered. "They . . . they've always known."

"Who's 'they', Kíli? And what have they always known?" Thorin asked.

"I don't really know," the young heir replied. "I know that Balin and Dwalin always knew, so that probably means that Óin and Glóin did too. And Dwalin said that Mother knows. I don't know who else. But I think it was really only news to me."

"What was news, lad?" Thorin demanded, his stomach sinking as he realized what Kíli was talking about and praying to the Maker that he was wrong.

"You and Fíli," Kíli replied simply. "I think I was the only one that didn't know. Well, maybe Bilbo didn't."

"You weren't," Thorin whispered looking away. "I wasn't aware of my behavior either. I want you to know . . . I would _never_ have done that on purpose. I _do_ love your brother. As much as I love you and your mother. The three of you are all I have."

"Then why did you do it?" Kíli asked firmly. "If you love him like you love me why didn't you show him like you showed me?" Thorin was silent for a time and Kíli began to realize that he had just asked a very rude question.

"I'm sorry," Kíli said. "You don't have to answer that, Uncle. You don't have to explain yourself to me. I shouldn't have asked."

"No," Thorin agreed. "I don't have to; but I will." He paused and took as deep a breath as he could before he looked at Kíli and prayed that this conversation went better with him than it had his brother. He couldn't lose Kíli again. Not so soon. Not after he'd lost Fíli and Dís. But he also didn't want to hide his mistakes from his nephew.

"My excuse isn't a good one," Thorin said, staring into Kíli's eyes—Dís's eyes, Frerin's eyes—as he confessed his greatest failing of his family. "It's not even an adequate one. I daresay it's not even a _paltry_ one." Thorin paused again. "I've already told Fíli this and he found it less than comforting. I fear what you'll think of me when you know the truth as well but . . . I can't bring myself to lie to you, Kíli. Even by omission."

"The reason that I was never as warm to your brother as I am to you is because Fíli looks too much like _my_ brother," Thorin replied. "It was cruel and _stupid_ of me."

"That doesn't make sense, Uncle," Kíli replied. "Why would Fíli looking like your brother make you dislike him. I'd think that as much as you miss him it would make you like him more. I just look like Mother. You see her all the time."

"You're missing the point, lad," Thorin sighed shaking his head sadly. It shouldn't have mattered which of them looked like which of his siblings. He _should_ have been able to love them as themselves rather than mix them up in the troubles of his past based on who they looked like.  "It was hard because I _killed_ my brother. I'm the reason he's dead. "

"No," Kíli said shaking his head with a look of confused disgust on his face. "Mother said he was killed by orcs at the Battle of Azanulbizar. Orcs killed him. Not you."

"The orcs may have done the deed but I made it easier for them, Kíli," Thorin said before he gave a sad laugh. "You and I are too much alike, little one. We're both stubborn, arrogant, rash. Kíli, the look on Fíli's face when you said what you did in the caves, do you remember it?"

"I keep trying not to," Kíli replied sadly. "Maybe if I don't think about it I can forget it. He . . . he was so hurt. So . . ."

"You'll never be able to forget it, lad," Thorin said, his voice little more than a whisper. "It's been  more than a hundred years and I can still remember the look on my brother's face when I said nearly the same thing to him. I called him a coward for not wanting to charge into battle against orcs as a child. I told him that he wasn't my brother. That he wasn't worthy of his place in the succession and that even if he did ever get the chance to rule he would fail to be able to rally the people behind him. Then I . . . I told him I never wanted to see him again." Thorin sighed, tears clinging to his lashes as he admitted everything that he had done to his brother to his nephew.

Kíli watched in shock as his uncle cried. He'd never seen Thorin cry before. Once more he felt that he was seeing something that he wasn't meant to.

"I . . . I never did, Kíli," Thorin said once he felt he was able, though his voice was still choked with unshed tears. "Not alive anyway. He died that day and I _never_ got to tell him that I hadn't meant it. I didn't mean any of what I said. I was . . . scared—no, not scared, _terrified_. But I had no way out of the situation and here was my brother, my sweet, _foolish_ baby brother, telling me to run to Father and Grandfather and demand as their heir that they stop the battle. I couldn't do it. They wouldn't have stopped, even if I'd asked and . . . and I was afraid they would think less of me if I did. So I didn't."

"I wanted to, but I didn't," Thorin sighed. "Instead, I lashed out at the one person I shouldn't have. I wanted to rage at my father and grandfather, ask the questions of them that Frerin asked of me. I wanted to ask _why_ they thought we needed to retake Khazad-dûm. . . but I didn't. Instead, I raged at Frerin for suggesting it in the first place. I cursed him for suggesting what was _best_ for our people. What was _right_.  I drove him away from me and it resulted in his death."

Kíli sat in silence for a moment, taking in the fact that his uncle had made the same mistake that he did. His uncle had also disowned his brother. His uncle had betrayed his own brother. But there was one difference in their situation: Fíli wasn't dead yet. But if he had died . . . Kíli could see where his uncle was coming from. If Fíli had died because of Kíli's words . . . he never would have been able to forgive himself. He shuddered to think what would have happened if one of his sons had looked anything like his brother and with their father being a blonde it was possible and blue eyes did run in the family. If that had happened. . .  Kíli wasn't sure that he could live with it.

Thorin watched Kíli's face carefully as he digested what he had just been told preparing himself for the moment that hatred filled his nephew's eyes and Kíli stormed off as Fíli had done just a bit before. It never came. Instead, Kíli looked at him with what almost looked like _pity._ It was a look that he had seen on Dís' face before but never Kíli's.

"You didn't kill him," Kíli finally said, his brown eyes soft. "Even if you hadn't said that, he might have died, Uncle. You said he was a child," Kíli paused to snort. "None of us here are . . . well, _I_ am. But I'm nearly and adult and that's not the point. Anyway, we're all adults and we're _running_ from orcs. They probably would have killed him anyway and you too trying to protect him."

Thorin's mouth opened in shock that _that_ was what Kíli would choose to say now. Thorin shook his head. He'd heard the same argument before. Dís always said the same thing when this topic came up.

"You sound like your mother. Did she tell you to say that?" Thorin asked with a sad smile. He wouldn't have put it past his sister to tell one of her sons to tell him that if this came up on the quest.

"No," Kíli replied. "We've never discussed this, Uncle. This is the first I've heard of it."

"It's not like it matters," Thorin whispered. "Regardless of who killed him, Frerin is dead and Fíli . . . I can never apologize enough to erase what I did. I can _never_ make it up to him." Kíli was quiet for a moment as he tried to think of how to say what he wanted to without hurting his uncle before deciding that had just needed to say it.

"There's one difference, Uncle," Kíli eventually said, swallowing before he could finish as Thorin's blue eyes bored into him. "Fíli's not dead. He's still alive. If you _try_ then . . . maybe . . ." he trailed off with a small shrug and an awkward half-smile, unwilling to say that Fíli would forgive their uncle.

"Sometimes I forget just how young you still are," Thorin replied, his tone gentle. Kíli waited for an explanation but none came. He was just about to ask for one when their private conversation was interrupted by the company. Balin took one look at the two of them still where he had left them and raised an eyebrow at Kíli.

"I couldn't get him up," Kíli replied. "I can barely get _me_ up." Balin nodded, feeling shame was through him that he had forgotten about Kíli's own injuries and making a mental note to see to them at the next rest stop.

"It's alright, lad," Balin said. "We'll get him up." Despite his words, Balin made no move towards Thorin even when Dori was already at the king's side. Dori looked up, waiting for someone else to come help him but none was coming. Bofur looked torn between helping and not overstepping himself, but the others just looked uncomfortable and Thorin's cousins looked nearly hostile.

"Do you think you can get to your feet with just my help, Thorin?" Dori asked quietly his words just for the King. "I don't think we'll be getting any more help. They seem . . . unsettled."

"I can try," Thorin replied, having sensed the same discontent that Dori was, before trying to fold his legs under him so that he could get to his feet without the use of his arms. It was rapidly clear that this was not going to work. Dori may have been strong, but Thorin was heavy and too weak to be much help in the process. Just as Dori was about to insist that one of the other's help him, a flash of gold beside him caught his attention.

"Switch sides with me," Fíli ordered. "I can help but I need to be able to use my left hand." Dori nodded and did as he was told. Through the combined efforts of Fíli, Dori and Thorin, the king was on his feet once more. Even once he was on his feet, Thorin clung to them for a moment, resting his head on Fíli's shoulder and trying to prepare himself to move. Through it all, Fíli's face remained blank, though his jaw clinched when Thorin clung to him in a parody of an embrace. After what felt like an eternity to the blonde heir, Thorin released him and stood on his own power.

"Thank you," the king said, looking at Dori first before his eyes landed on Fíli. The sight of his nephew hurt him. With his hair pulled back like Kíli's, Thorin could see a resemblance between Fíli and Dís that he had never known was there but more than that, with his hair styled more like Víli's, Fíli looked just like his father. He didn't resemble Frerin, not truly. There were similarities, but those were just the common features that Dís had shared with their brother. Thorin didn't know how he'd never seen it before. Fíli didn't look like Frerin. Other than the blonde hair, he was a mix of Víli and _Dís_ , just as he should have been. Frerin wasn't there, just the features that were uniquely _Fíli_.

"Thank you, Fíli," Thorin said again, a bit disturbed by the passionless non-expression on Fíli's face. He didn't know what it meant. He'd never seen anything so cold on Fíli's face before. There was always some twinkle of mischief, some sign of life. Not this blankness. He didn't understand it.

Thorin may not have, but Kíli had. And to see it now terrified him. He'd only ever seen it once before but he still remembered it. This was Fíli's 'I'm furious with you but I'm not going to yell because it won't do any good anyway' expression. The _one_ time Kíli had seen it before had been when they were children and another boy, Dorin, had said something horrible about Kíli's parentage and their mother's supposed lack of discretion in bedfellows. One moment Fíli had been smiling and the next . . . he'd worn the same expression he did now. Fíli had said nothing to Dorin but the next day at weapon's practice, Dwalin had had to drag him off the boy. Kíli had thought that his brother had killed Dorin but then he had stirred. Dorin didn't come back to practice for over a week. Fíli had been severely punished for nearly killing another student—he refused to tell their mother why he had done it and forbade Kíli from doing so, as he said it would hurt her more to know—and Kíli had never seen Fíli make that face ever again until this day. And now he was making it at their uncle.

But then Fíli spoke and Kíli's worry for his uncle was pushed away in his shock at what his brother said.

"You're welcome, _Thorin_ ," Fíli said before turning and beginning to walk down the mountain once more.

" _Fíli!_ " Kíli squeaked. He couldn't believe what his brother had just done. "Fíli?" He made to go after his brother and demand an explanation but was stopped by a hand on his wrist. He looked back to see Thorin looking at him with sad blue eyes.

"It's alright, lad. Let him go," Thorin said, though the breathless of his voice was caused by more than just the pain of his wounds. He was both shocked and pained by what Fíli had called him but could see where the lad was coming from. He truly had no claim to kinship with Fíli. Not after what he had done.

"But—" Kíli protested, looking at his brother's retreating back before looking back at his uncle with a small noise in his throat.

 "At least he's speaking to me," Thorin continued, offering Kíli a sad smile. "It's more than I deserve." Kíli stared at his uncle incredulously. The rest of the company were just as shocked as Kíli and Bilbo and Bofur were wondering if they were the only ones that heard the anger and pain and hint of threat in Fíli's words.

They weren't, but Balin, Dwalin Óin and Glóin were more preoccupied with Thorin's statement that Fíli's threat—as they felt that Fíli might just be justified in anything he wanted to do to Thorin after what the king had said to him. They had taken Thorin's statement to Kíli as a statement of guilt. They took it to mean that Thorin _had_ said to Fíli what Dwalin had said he had. 


	30. "We can't go back"

As Fíli walked away from Thorin, his heart was racing. He had halfway expected a rebuke of some form from someone other than Kíli for calling Thorin by his given name rather than his familial title. What he hadn't expected had been the quiet pain and acceptance of the change that Thorin had given him. It had almost seemed like Thorin had thought he _deserved_ it. Fíli shook his head and continued on. Despite the confusion this quiet acceptance caused him, it was also strangely liberating.

Without their relationship hanging over them, Thorin's betrayal was easier to understand and accept. While an uncle should never marginalize one nephew while doting on another, a king . . . well, a king could do as he would. Such cool behavior to those not related to him was not only acceptable but even expected. By regulating Thorin to non-kin status, the pain and chaos in Fíli's mind receded a bit and allowed him to think a bit more clearly. He hadn't realized that such a simple change would hold such power.

He had a sudden, vehement wish that the power of that discovery could be used to clear the rest of his confusion but it couldn't. His cousins and brother couldn't be moved from their established relationships as easily as Thorin could. Kíli, for all his faults, was still Fíli's brother. Yes, Kíli had hurt him but, in a way, wasn't the pain simply a sign of the betrayal of that expected relationship. Kíli _should_ have loved him unconditionally, as Fíli loved Kíli. He had been willing to _kill_ his King for his brother and Kíli wasn't even willing to trust him. It still rankled, but with his anger at Thorin fading, Fíli could now see that some of Kíli's anger may have come from feeling betrayed himself.

He could have felt that Fíli was betraying both Kíli and Thorin by breaking so many of the rules that had been set for them. With a wry laugh Fíli thought it was even possible that Kíli had been angry because Fíli hadn't listened to him when he told Fíli to stop. Kíli always had been a petulant little thing. Because surely Kíli hadn't been angry with him for doing exactly what he had done only moments before. He may have said that he was but Kíli had taken up the knife as well. Surely he wasn't such a hypocrite. Strangely, that thought amused Fíli and he felt a smirk cross his face. Kíli, his brother, the petulant hypocrite.

He was pulled out of his thoughts with a flinch as he felt an arm settle around his shoulder. He halfway expected to see Kíli standing there, confusion and hurt in his brown eyes for Thorin's pain, but saw Dwalin there instead. He was suddenly aware of bodies all around him. Feeling slightly panicked, he glanced around and saw Balin to his right, Glóin behind him and Óin beside his brother and behind Dwalin. Fíli flinched again as he realized he was nearly surrounded by Thorin's closest supporters.

 _Perhaps I won't get away with that slight after all,_ he thought bitterly. He just knew that they were there to lecture him and try to force him to apologize. He wouldn't do it. There was nothing for _him_ to apologize for. Not this time. If anything, _they_ owed him an apology for how they had treated him, though he knew that he would never get it. He was too far below them to merit an apology. They were his instructors, his elders, he wasn't worthy of their apology and knew that he would have to endure their lecturing and whatever punishment they chose to dole out when he refused to comply.

Even so, he couldn't help but feel furious with them. He knew that it wasn't right of him to hold them accountable for Thorin's actions and that he should be strong enough to separate them from it but he couldn't. And he couldn't explain it away by simple miscategorization. Even if they were removed from kin status, they were all still instructor. They _should_ have had his best interests at heart, which they clearly hadn't if they had known and done nothing. It made him wonder why they hadn't. Wasn't he worth the trouble to them? Was he really so worthless that they couldn't spare a few words to Thorin, or his mother? They _should_ have told his mother what they knew even if they couldn't bring themselves to invoke their kinship to Thorin to make him listen. _She_ would have. She could have made Thorin listen even if they weren't able to. Thorin loved her. He would have listened to her.

But they hadn't. They hadn't said or done _anything_. They'd just stood by and _watched_.  And now that he had _finally_ said something about it himself, they were there _disapproving_ of his actions. He could feel their disapproval like a vice, squeezing the air from his lungs and trapping him. And suddenly all he wanted was to drop to his knees and beg them to forgive him for it. A small part of him whispered that he had done the right thing, but the rest of him _screamed_ that he had failed yet again.

Balin noticed as Fíli's breathing sped and a small whimper escaped the young heir. At first glance, Fíli looked fine, however as he looked closer, he noticed that the blonde was biting his lip beneath his beard and that his fists were clinched and that his breathing was impossibly shallow and quick. He placed a gentle hand on Fíli's arm, hating himself when the young dwarf twitched nearly aggressively away from him.

"I didn't mean to do it," Fíli said almost desperately. "I shouldn't have. I . . . I'll apologize. Later but I will. Please don't be angry."

"I'm not angry with you, lad," Balin replied. "You did nothing wrong."

"And you don't owe him anything," Dwalin added. "Let alone an apology. He was the one to reject your kinship. You simply honored his wishes. We're with you in this, Fíli."

"With me?" Fíli said slowly almost as if he hadn't understood them.

"Aye, lad," Glóin said reaching up to clap him on the shoulder. "We're with you."

The words had the opposite effect than they had expected. Rather than be comforted, Fíli pulled further away and began radiating anger once more as he wondered just what they were trying to accomplish. Was this truly a show of solidarity or was it simply that they thought him so _weak_ that he would need support after such a decision? And a more pressing question in his mind—as he knew that they knew he was weak—had they done it to help him or to hurt Thorin? As that thought crossed his mind, the anger morphed into fury.

He knew that he truly had no right to be angry with them for hurting Thorin as he knew that his own words had. He had known they would before he ever said them, but at least his hurting their king had had a reason. _He_ had done it to show Thorin that their relationship had changed without having to say it directly and force his king to hear him disown him as Kíli had forced him to hear it. He knew that they would hurt, but they had also served another purpose. Thorin had asked for forgiveness and reclassifying him was the only way that Fíli knew to give it. If Thorin were his uncle, it was unforgivable. If not . . . well, it wasn't. What was their reason?

Was it because of what had happened between Thorin and Fíli? The very thing that they had stood by and _allowed_ to happen? Fíli scoffed at the thought. That was none of their business. It was between the two of them and it had been sorted. Mostly. _They_ had no right to involve themselves now that Fíli no longer needed them: now that he was standing up for himself. Where were they for the past _seventy_ years? Where were they when he was a _child_? Why were they choosing to do something now when the damage had already been done? It wasn't as if they could erase it by supporting him now that he was beginning to stand on his own.

No. _They_ had no right to abandon Thorin now. To leave him with no kin besides Kíli for help. It wasn't fair to Kíli. He could barely handle himself at the moment, let alone someone as gravely injured as Thorin. It had taken both Fíli and _Dwalin_ to keep him on his feet that morning. Kíli wasn't as strong as either of them on a good day, let alone as injured as he was. They were asking things of him that he could never do and seeing his brother set up to fail, as he had been so many times, enraged the young heir. And to add on top of that that they had betrayed their _King_ when Thorin needed them the most. This was something that Fíli could not accept.

All of these thoughts flew through his mind and it was only a few moments after Glóin had spoken that Fíli asked, "What if I don't want you?"

"Come again?" Balin said, his tone clearly showing his shock.

"I said, 'what if I don't want you"," Fíli repeated. "What if I don't want your support now? What if I wanted it before when you were too busy to care enough to give it?"

"We always cared," Balin said gently. "We just—"

"You _cared_!?" Fíli scoffed. "That's why you waited for _all_ of _this_ to happen _before_ you said anything to Thorin about it? You cared, did you?"

"We cared, lad," Dwalin said, trying to calm Fíli without breaking his promise to Kíli in the process. He knew that this time Kíli was right. Fíli was too unstable for the truth. It would irreparably break him. They didn't have time for that at the moment and maybe later, when he was calmer, the damage would not be quite so bad.

"You have no idea how hard—" Dwalin said only to be cut off.

"I don't!?" Fíli demanded spinning to face him. "You _dare_ to tell me that I don't know how hard the situation was? I _lived_ it. I know _exactly_ how hard it was. Do you!? Do you have _any_ idea what it's like to _never_ be good enough. For everything you do to be met with half-approval and criticism on how you could have done better while anything your brother touches is _praised_ as if Mahal himself had done it? Do you know what it's like to be shot down _every_ _time_ you suggest something only for someone else to make the same suggestion and it be accepted? You don't. So forgive me if I have no interest in hearing just how _hard_ it was for _you_."

He stared from one shocked face to the next and felt no remorse for what he had just said. What had they expected? Him to be _grateful_?

"Go back to Thorin," Fíli snapped. "Maybe he'll appreciate your support. I don't." With that he turned and stalked down the mountain once more, attempting to find a path in the trackless woods. Balin made to go after him but Dwalin stopped him with an arm across his chest.

"Let him go, Brother," he said, his tone making it clear just how much Fíli's rejection had hurt him. "He's angry and needs space. Let him be a bit. He's still within sight of the group." Balin nodded and the cousins agreed to give Fíli his space, allowing Dori, Nori and Ori to move between them and Fíli but not falling back far enough to join Thorin's group. Despite what Fíli had ordered, they couldn't bring themselves to go back to Thorin. Not when it was all his fault that Fíli was in such pain in the first place.

**ooOO88OOoo**

The march that day was not an easy one for any of them. They were all exhausted, emotionally and physically, and the tension in the group was thick enough as to be tangible. The tension between the king and his heirs was expected but the development of tensions between Thorin and his cousins was unexpected. Even if he didn't know exactly _what_ had happened, Bofur knew that something had occurred between Fíli and Thorin and that the others had taken Fíli's side on the matter because no sooner had the blonde heir walked away, than the others cast Thorin a look filled with loathing and followed Fíli, clustering around him similarly to how they had always clustered around his uncle, not noticing the panicked and hostile look the young dwarf shot them as they did.

"Kíli?" Bofur asked nudging his head towards the cluster of the lad's kin with his eyebrow raised as he silently asked if he knew what was happening.

"No idea," Kíli replied. "Uncle?" Thorin shook his head before gripping Kíli forearm tightly and forcing himself to take a step.

"I don't know, little one," Thorin panted, putting more of his weight on Kíli than was comfortable and causing Kíli's face to pinch in pain as it pulled at his own wounds. His last tussle with Dwalin had truly been a bad idea. Things had either reopened or torn further and he could feel the blood trickling down his back but ignored it, knowing that his uncle was in more pain than he was and needed him at the moment. There wasn't anyone else, though he wished there were so that he could go talk to Fíli and try to calm him before the worst happened. **_If_** _he'll talk to me_ , he mentally added, knowing that it was a very real possibility that Fíli wouldn't.

Bofur had seen Kíli's discomfort and moved to Thorin's other side and laid a gentle hand on his arm to get his attention. When the King's pain-clouded blue eyes fell on him, it was everything Bofur could do to keep the pity from his gaze. He knew that Thorin wouldn't appreciate that in the least.

"I can help too," Bofur offered quietly. "If you'd like."

"You don't have to," Thorin reminded him. "Kíli and I . . . we'll be slower than the rest. They may not wait for us. Not after what happened today." Bofur didn't know what had happened that day, but he had a solution to the problem.

"They'll wait," he said before lifting his fingers to his mouth and giving a shrill whistle. "Bombur, Bifur!" His brother and cousin stopped and waited for them to catch up. "We have their cook. They'll wait." Thorin chuckled quietly and placed his arm over Bofur's with a small smile and nod of thanks.

"That's evil," Kíli said appreciatively as Bilbo said, "Remind me not to get on your bad side. Holding the food hostage. That's barbaric." Bofur smiled and gave Bilbo a smirk.

"Barbaric or not, it'll keep them with us," Bofur said, his tone showing he had taken no offence at Bilbo's words. "Besides, not all of us are as fond of food as you are, Master Hobbit." He kept his tone light, though he saw the argument that was going on at the front of the group. It seemed Fíli had finally gotten sick of being crowded. He gave an almost amused half-laugh as the one young dwarf cowed for fully grown dwarves, and three of them warriors besides. Fíli had fire, he'd have to give him that. And the lad was lethal. But he was mostly harmless, if you didn't back him into a corner like Kíli was so prone to do. As long as you respected his space and backed off when the signs were there, Fíli wasn't dangerous. Not really.

He did have to wonder if those four idiots taking to him would realize they were being warned or if there was about to be yet more blood spilt. He felt Thorin tense beside him and looked up to see that the King's blue eyes were fixed on the feud as well. Thorin hardly seemed to breathe as he waited to see what would happen. The tension in him pulled Kíli from his banter with Bilbo and caused him to look up, his eyes widening in fear as he realized just how much danger there actually was from his brother at the moment. Fíli was in a volatile mood at the moment and they were crowding him. His cheek throbbed at the memory of what had happened the last time he had crowded his brother.

And then it was over. There was a collective sigh of relief when Fíli turned and stormed off. They knew it was a fight that he wouldn't have won, but he still could have done some damage before he was subdued. They tried to alleviate the tension they felt by turning to banter once more, but it felt flat, forced and soon died out into silence. A silence in which none of them noticed the absence of a higher pitched voice or the person who it belonged to.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Bilbo crept along beside the company until he was even with Fíli and then stepped up next to him. He stayed there silently until Fíli looked at him with a small sad smile.

"Why aren't you with Kíli and Thorin?" Fíli asked softly.

"They had more than enough company," Bilbo replied with a shrug. "Bofur is with them and recruited his brother and cousin as hostages to ensure that the company waits for them. Says you won't run off and leave your cook." Fíli gave a small laugh at that. Good old Bofur. Always thinking with his stomach. Fíli honestly thought he did it more than Bombur, no matter how much heavier the second was.

"So why'd you come up here?" Fíli asked. "I'm certain they'll be more fun that I am. Bofur is always good for a laugh or two and so is Kíli."

"Kíli's not much for laughing lately," Bilbo replied. "And at any rate, I figured you need the company more. I can leave again if you'd like."

"No," Fíli said quietly. "Stay. Please." Bilbo nodded and fell into step beside the dwarf. Fíli sighed.

"Do you _want_ to talk about what just happened?" Bilbo asked. "If not, we can talk about whatever you'd like. Or not talk at all. I'm fine either way."

"Which thing?" Fíli asked.

"Either, any, all," Bilbo replied. "Whatever you'd like." Fíli was shocked at that. No one had ever let him pick what he wanted to talk about. Kíli always rambled and just expected Fíli to come along with him and keep up with his crazy thoughts. Thorin had always set the terms of the discussion, as had most of the older dwarves. The only real exception had been his mother and she never really gave him a choice on whether or not he was going to talk. She _acted_ like she was, but he knew that she wouldn't leave him be until he did. But Bilbo . . . he really meant it. If Fíli didn't want to talk he wasn't going to force the issue. It was this that decided him.

"I hate them," Fíli muttered. "Well, maybe hate isn't the right word. I . . . I don't want to see them hurt, any of them but . . . I  . . . I _resent_ them."

"Them?" Bilbo asked, wondering if he was referring to Thorin and Kíli or someone else.

"My cousins," Fíli replied. He sighed before he continued. "I . . . I think they knew. I think they've known for a while."

"Known what exactly?" Bilbo replied, wondering just what Fíli was talking about.

"That Thorin doesn't love me," Fíli said as if it were the simplest truth in the world. "That he never has. He's always loved Kíli but never me. He . . . he told me that it was because of his brother."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Bilbo asked. He didn't believe for one second that Thorin didn't love Fíli—there was no way that the king could have looked at the younger dwarf sleeping in his lap with such softness just a bit ago if he didn't—but he knew that disagreeing with Fíli would make him stop and knew that the dwarf needed to tell someone.

"Apparently I look like Frerin and Thorin blames himself for his death," Fíli said sadly before giving a bitter laugh and continuing. "Just because I was born with blonde hair."

"Blonde hair?" Bilbo asked. While it was true that most hobbits had brown hair, blonde hair wasn't so rare as to be a reason to shun a child in his culture. He wondered if it was different for the dwarves. "I'm sure there are many dwarves with blonde hair. Thorin can't hate them all."

"There aren't," Fíli replied. "I've only ever seen two others in our branch and one was my father. I only know of four. Me, my father, the dwarrowdam from town and my uncle."

"Anyway, that's a silly reason to hate someone," Bilbo countered.

"He doesn't hate me," Fíli said his voice sounding more childish and vulnerable than Bilbo had ever heard it, "and I . . . I don't hate him. He just . . . he doesn't love me or see me as kin. He sees me as an heir. Nothing more."

"Did he tell you that?" Bilbo asked. Fíli shook his head.

"Some things don't have to be said, Bilbo," Fíli replied. "Some things you just know."

"Is that why you're calling him 'Thorin' now?" the hobbit asked gently. Fíli nodded.

"It makes it easier to remind myself that I'm not his nephew," Fíli said, his voice showing just how much that though bothered him, even if his eyes were dry. "Kíli's always held his heart, he can keep it. I never had a claim to it anyway. I can just be his heir. That's enough and I'm content with what I have." Fíli didn't seem content, he seemed unbearably sad but again Bilbo didn't correct him. It wasn't the time for that.

"And your angry with your cousins because . . . "

"I think they stood by and let it happen," Fíli said quietly. "I think they saw that he was being unfair and let him do it because . . . because I wasn't worth it to them to do otherwise. I didn't matter." Bilbo wanted to tell the young fragile dwarf beside him that he was sure that wasn't true but he wasn't and he refused to lie to Fíli.

"What would you have had them do?" Bilbo asked gently, looking at Fíli with green eyes filled with compassion.

"I don't know," Fíli said in a lost little voice with a shrug. "Tell my mother. Tell Thorin. Tell _me._ Anything besides stand by and let it happen. For years I thought that I was imagining things. And Mother told me that Thorin was a bit colder to me but that it was because he was trying to mold me into an heir. I didn't know for sure until the caves when Thorin urged me to do as I was told despite seeing how much what I was doing bothered me. "For Kíli," he said. "Do it for Kíli." Well, I did and now Kíli fears me."

"The caves aren't why he fears you," Bilbo replied honestly. "He fears you because you cut him. But he still loves you. He loves you more than he fears you."

"No offence, Bilbo," Fíli said, "but I don't think you know what you're talking about. Kíli fears me more than he loves me. That's why he hasn't spent more than five minutes with me all day. Not that I blame him. I'd fear me." He scoffed. " _You_ fear me."

"Not at the moment," Bilbo said. "And I don't count. I'm afraid of everything. A cricket landed on me the other day and I nearly stabbed myself trying to fight it off." It had the effect that Bilbo had wanted and Fíli gave a small laugh. "When I haven't startled you into pulling daggers, I don't fear you. There's nothing _to_ fear."

Fili said nothing but in his mind he disagreed with Bilbo. There was plenty to fear. Even _he_ wasn't sure what he would do next and that thought alone was enough to make him fear himself, even if Bilbo didn't.

**ooOO88OOoo**

They continued walking until dusk was upon them, at which point they stopped again to rest. Dinner was a bit better than lunch had been as Bifur had used Kíli's bow to bring down a few squirrels and a quail while Nori had gotten a couple of small birds with his throwing knives as they walked and Bilbo had once again found them some edible plants to go in the stew. They were all bone weary as they sank down to the ground that night, not even bothering to drag over large logs to sit on, and ate their meals.

Then there was a bit of a debate on how to do this. They knew that they needed to keep watch, but they also knew that they needed to be moving out in a couple of hours and no one was willing to go entirely without sleep until they next had the opportunity to rest. Eventually Gandalf volunteered to take the watch and wake them all in a couple of hours to continue on. No one protested.

Kíli stayed beside his uncle during all of this, trying to make him as comfortable as possible, placing his own unused coat behind his uncle to attempt to pad the tree and make it easier for him to lean against. But even as he was wrapping the blanket around his uncle, his eyes kept drifting to his brother where Fíli was lying alone at the edge of the firelight. Thorin saw where Kíli's eyes were and placed a gentle hand on his elbow to stop him as Kíli made to kneel beside him.

"Uncle?" Kíli asked looking at him in confusion.

"Go to your brother. I know you want to," Thorin said. "I'll be fine."

"But you'll be cold," Kíli protested. "That's only a thin blanket, Uncle, and you did lose quite a bit of blood."

"It won't matter," Thorin replied. "It's not as if you can share your body heat, little one. I'm in no state to cuddle tonight. Go to him. He needs you more than I do." Kíli looked uncertain for a moment before he spoke.

"What if he rejects me?" he asked, his voice little more than a whisper of sound that could almost have been imagined.

"Then come back," Thorin said simply. "It is not that you are not welcome here, Kíli. I . . . I just think that you are _needed_ there. Alright?" Kíli nodded and turned to walk towards his brother. Thorin watched him go, praying to any that would listen that Fíli would not reject his brother. They needed one another more than they could ever know and he hoped they would never have to learn that lesson. Not like he had.

Kíli walked over, knowing that Fíli would send him away once more but just like earlier, he needed to try. Maybe Fíli would surprise him. Every step he took, he knew that was not a likely possibility. Fíli had surprised him once that day, it wouldn't happen twice.

"What do you want this time, Kíli?" Fíli asked without opening his eyes.

"Do I have to want something?" Kíli asked in response.

"No," Fíli said cracking open a blue eye and looking up at his brother. "You don't _have_ to but you usually do. What is it this time?"

"Can . . . can I sleep here?" Kíli asked hesitantly, picking at his fingernails rather than making eye contact with Fíli.

"Everyone else turn you down?" Fíli asked snidely.

"No," Kíli said defensively looking up with hurt in his brown eyes that Fíli would think he was Kíli's last choice. "I didn't ask anyone else. I _want_ to sleep with you. Just like we always have. I can't sleep alone."

"Then go sleep with Bilbo and Bofur like you did yesterday," Fíli replied harshly. He hated himself for hurting Kíli yet again. "Then you wouldn't be alone."

"I didn't like sleeping with them," Kíli said, sounding much like he had three days ago as he tried to wheedle what he wanted from his brother. "Bofur snores and Bilbo . . . he likes to cuddle."

"So do you," Fíli replied with a shrug. "You both snore and like to cuddle. You should fit in just fine."

"I don't," Kíli replied. "They're not you. Can't I stay, Fee? Please. Just tonight? It's only a few hours anyway and I think we'll both sleep better if we try to pretend things are still normal."

"But they're not, Kíli," Fíli said sadly, looking up at his baby brother who had betrayed him. "They aren't and they never will be. We can't go back. Not really. I . . . I don't trust you and you fear me. Do you really think we can sleep together anymore?"

"Won't know unless we try, will we?" Kíli asked hopefully. Fíli sighed before scooting over a bit and patting the ground next to him. Kíli gave him a happy smile before going to find his pack and bring over his bedding. Fíli was a bit shocked that Kíli hadn't just brought it with him in the first place and wondered what his brother would have done had he said no. Within moments Kíli was sprawled out beside his brother, his head on Fíli's shoulder and his arm across his chest to tangle in his blonde hair. Just as it always had, Fíli's right hand came up to tangle in Kíli's hair as well while his left moved to rest in the small of Kíli's back.

With a wince, Fíli pulled back his right hand, the attempt to grip Kíli's hair having pulled the break at the same time as Kíli hissed and arched away from the pressure on his back. Fíli let his right hand rest on the top of Kíli's head and his left on his own stomach. It was just as he had said. Things were not the same. Even so, Kíli's breathing began to even out just as it had every other night as he had drifted off to sleep like this.

"Kíli?" Fíli muttered. His brother hummed in response, too far gone to articulate an answer. "Snore in my ear and I'll beat you," Fíli threatened, just as he had every night before. It never helped. Kíli always snored and Fíli never beat him for it. At that little bit of normalcy, Kíli nuzzled his shoulder and moved a bit closer.

"Love you, Fee," Kíli muttered.

"Good night, Kíli," Fíli replied unable to say what he always had. He didn't hate Kíli but he didn't trust him and without trust could he truly say that he loved him?

**ooOO88OOoo**

Thorin watched as his nephews bedded down together. For the first time, he felt _true_ hope that they would recover from this. He had feared that Fíli would reject Kíli but that had been unfounded. Even as hope awoke for Fíli forgiving Kíli he had none for himself. Fíli would never forgive him. His words that afternoon had said as much. Thorin had received the message. By calling him by his given name, Fíli effectively disowned him as family. There was no going back from that. Thorin knew. He could never earn Fíli's forgiveness. Not now. But if he could forgive Kíli and continue to behave civilly to Thorin. That was more than the King could ask for. Even with such depressing thoughts for company, he slipped into sleep with a small smile on his face for all that Fíli and Kíli had accomplished that day.

 

 


	31. Nightmares and Old Enemies

Fíli couldn't sleep. He had tried but sleep just wouldn't come. However it wasn't Kíli's fault. Mostly. His brother's snores filling his ears were actually rather soothing, as was Kíli's familiar warmth and weight against him. No. It wasn't Kíli's fault; it was his own mind that wouldn't allow him to sleep. Too much had happened that day. Too much that he had still yet to process.

So he lay there, on his back and allowed his thoughts to take him as Kíli's sleep-evened breathing filled the air, a small smile on his face that even in the face of all of these changes, some things never changed: Kíli always could get to sleep. He gave a wry laugh as he thought that at least his brother had been tired out enough not to twitch. Just as thought crossed his mind, Kíli whimpered and began to squirm against him.

With a sigh, Fíli raised his left hand and stroked Kíli's hair in an attempt to soothe him out of whatever vivid dream was causing him to twitch, just as he always did. However, this time it didn't work. Rather than sigh contentedly and nuzzle into Fíli's shoulder, Kíli whimpered more loudly and his squirming became thrashing as random bursts of Khuzdul began tumbling from his lips, twisted and garbled with sleep but no less heartbreaking for their incomprehensibility. The tone made it clear; Kíli was begging and it was rapidly growing in volume.

Casting a panicked look around to make sure that Kíli hadn't woke any of the others, Fíli did the one thing he could think of to quite his brother and placed his hand over Kíli's mouth. That only made Kíli struggle all the more forcefully, his right elbow connecting with his brother's nose in his struggles to be free and his pleas rising in volume.

"Hush!" Fíli hissed into his ear sniffing back blood. "Kíli stop this! You're going to wake the others. You're fine. Ow!" He stilled his instinctual urge to smack his brother when Kíli sank his teeth into Fíli's hand—the elder not having expected to be bit and not having bothered to cup his hand to prevent it—but he couldn't stop the response to pull away. Kíli didn't release him. All Fíli succeeded in doing was hurting himself as he tried to free his hand from his brother's teeth. Knowing that it was the only had one way to free his hand so that he could try to wake Kíli again, he _pushed_ forcing his own flesh deeper into Kíli's mouth until his brother gagged and then yanked it free before Kíli could recover and bite him again.

Not knowing what else to do, Fíli used his greater strength to roll Kíli onto his back. He winced as Kíli cried out in pain and arched off the ground, pleading and cursing in their native tongue as his arms flailed blindly attempting to bat off attackers that weren't there. Fíli captured them both in his unbroken hand and forced them over his brother's head, letting out a whimper of his own at Kíli's hoarse cry of pain.

"I'm sorry," Fíli murmured. "So sorry, Kíli. But you can't keep flailing around like that you're only hurting both of us. Wake up!" Kíli just kept swearing, his brown eyes open but not seeing who was actually sitting on him. Instead, Kíli saw a goblin holding him down, all yellow eyes and glinting fangs and all he could hear was gibberish as the goblin leered down at him.

" _Release me,_ " he snarled up at the goblin in Khuzdul, trying to sound as aggressive as he could when all he could feel was fear. Only for his fear to increase as the goblin replied in the same garbled language as before. He knew that he was going to die, tortured to death while he was unable to answer questions that he couldn't understand. It was everything he could do not to start pleading and he tried to cover his fear under swearing.

"I can't!" Fíli cried desperately. "You have to wake up first. Come on, Kíli." He stared down at his baby brother trapped beneath him and the hatred and fear in his brown eyes and the panic that was clear in his frantic breathing broke his heart. Kíli's only response was yet more loud swearing in Khuzdul.

"Wazhappnin'?" Bilbo muttered, sitting up and looking around, shocked at the sight of Kíli on the ground below Fíli and hoping against hopes that Fíli had not attacked his brother again. Then he took in more of the scene and realized that Kíli was behaving just as he had the night before.

"Tell him you love him," Bilbo offered laying back down and trying to get back to sleep. "He did this last night. Just tell him you love him in your native tongue and he'll go back to sleep. Just be prepared. He cuddles."

"'nother nightmare?" Bofur asked as Bilbo laid back down. Bilbo hummed in response. "Common tongue won't help you, lad. For some reason he doesn't seem to understand it when he's asleep. Trust me, I'm just glad that he's focused on you rather than the hobbit. My ears are still bleeding." Bilbo was already back asleep and had nothing to say to Bofur's comment, though Fíli was looking at them in confusion and wondered if they just weren't awake enough to make sense. His attention was quickly drawn back to Kíli's thrashing cussing form.

"Kíli?" Fíli tried, wondering if their advice was sound and seeing no harm in trying it. " _Kíli, you're fine, Brother. You're safe. Calm down. Wake up."_   He watched as confusion crossed Kíli's face before his brother relaxed and stopped fighting.

"Fíli?" he breathed, tears stinging his eyes and blurring his brother to the point that all he could see was Fíli's golden hair above him.

"It's me," Fíli replied releasing Kíli's hands to stroke the left side of his face. "You're fine. You're safe."

"Fíli," Kíli sobbed before burying his face in his brother's neck. "It . . . you were a goblin. I . . . you're bleeding."  He pulled back and reached a cautious hand up to touch Fíli's upper lip, his fingers coming back stained crimson from the blood that was still pouring from Fíli's nose.

"You caught me with an elbow," Fíli said with a shrug, they'd both done worse to one another in training. It was only a bit of blood. "I'm fine," he continued, wiping the blood away with the back of his left hand.

"Is that a . . . did I _bite_ you?" Kíli demanded, grabbing his brother by the wrist to hold the hand still. Clearly marked in the pale flesh were two perfect semicircles of teeth oozing blood.

"You did," Fíli said. "but it was as much my fault as yours. Didn't Mother always warn us against touching or attempting to wake the older warriors when they were having nightmares? How was this any different if you thought I was a goblin. I . . . I never understood before but I think I do now. If that's what they see when they dream," Fíli paused to shudder. "I can see why she never let us near Uncle when he was sleeping." Kíli looked unconvinced but Fíli just smiled rolling onto his back once more and tucking Kíli back into his side.

"Sleep," Fíli said gently, his distrust of Kíli forgotten in light of Kíli's need of him. "They won't touch you ever again. I swear it, Brother. Sleep." Kíli sniffled and snuggled more tightly into his brother's side drifting back to sleep to Fíli's quiet humming and gentle petting.  

"You lads alright?" Fíli heard, jerking at the voice only to see that they hadn't just woken Bilbo and Bofur, but most of the company. Even Thorin's blue eyes were open and staring at them.

"We're fine," Fíli said. "Kíli had a nightmare. It's done now. Sorry to wake you." They nodded, understanding in most of their eyes as they had had nightmares of their own over the years and settled back down to try to sleep once more.

"You called him 'Uncle', you know," Kíli murmured. Fíli hummed in response. He had thought that his brother was asleep once more. "Just now. You called him 'Uncle' again. Why? Why did you call him by his name earlier? You do know that you hurt him, don't you? He—"

"Go to sleep, Kíli," the blonde replied sharply cutting off Kíli's defense of Thorin. "If you want to sleep there stop asking questions and sleep." He felt Kíli nod and rested his cheek on the younger's tousled hair. He was infinitely glad that he couldn't see the pain that his sharp words had to have caused his brother.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Despite Fíli's initial trouble sleeping, Gandalf had to wake him when it was time to move out.

"I am sorry," Gandalf said. "However, it is time." Fíli nodded sleepily and nudged Kíli in the ribs.

"Five more minutes," Kíli muttered. "Dwalin'll wait."

"He might but the orcs won't," Fíli replied. "Now get up, you lazy thing." Kíli rolled off him a bit and moved to stretch only to stop with a small gasp as he pulled his wounds.

"Kíli?" Fíli asked quietly, placing a hand on his arm. "Are you alright?"

"No," Kíli ground out, panting. "I . . ."

"Let me look," Fíli suggested grabbing the hem of Kíli's shirt and beginning to pull it over his head.

"No!" Kíli snapped doing his best to wiggle out from Fíli's grasp and only pulling his shirt higher up his back and hurting himself in the process. "We don't have time. We have to move out."

"Like you can move quickly like this?" Fíli demanded holding more firmly to the hem of his brother's shirt and refusing to let go until Kíli consented.

"Like it will make it better when you're done prodding me?" Kíli snapped. "Tending to Uncle just made it worse. I have no intention of allowing you to strip me! I'm doing fine."

"You're bleeding, Kíli," the blonde snarled seeing the red of fresh blood on the bandages on top of the brown of dried blood and feeling anger at his cousins sear through him once more. It had been more than a day, Kíli should have stopped bleeding by now and would have if they hadn't keep asking him to do things that were beyond him.

 "That's not fine," Fíli continued, speaking to both Kíli and the others at the same time, his blue eyes boring coldly into Balin over Kíli's bent form. Kíli opened his mouth to let out a string of words that best represented his _opinion_ on Fíli's statement but closed it as their uncle's weary voice cut through their argument.

"Kíli, stop struggling with your brother," Thorin ordered, leaning against Dori and Bofur. "Let him look." With a sigh, Kíli stopped struggling and allowed Fíli to pull his shirt over his head but before Fíli could begin to unwind the bandages from Kíli's chest a distant howl rent the air. They all froze, recognizing the sound of a warg when they heard it.

"I . . . I s-suppose it's too much to hope that was j-just a wolf, isn't it?" Bilbo breathed, his brown eyes wide with fear.

"Aye, laddie," Balin replied sadly. "That was no mere wolf." Bilbo nodded sadly and Kíli scrambled for his shirt, pulling it back over his head with an audible gasp.

"Told you we don't have time," he spat before stalking off and trying to locate his weapons so that he wouldn't be quite so helpless when the orcs came, even if he wasn't sure that he could draw his bow, he felt better with it on him.

"How fast can you move?" Fíli asked turning to Thorin rather than watching Kíli walk away from him, the stiff way that Kíli was carrying himself causing remorse to wash through Fíli for attempting to physically coerce him into compliance when he was already in pain.

"Not fast enough," Thorin replied, a grim expression on his face. He thought that the tightness in his nephew's voice came from having to speak civilly to him. It hurt him to see just how much of a rift had developed between them. No, not developed. It had always been there. But seeing it revealed hurt all the same.

 "But I'll do the best I can," he promised, knowing that it would be better for the company to leave him. He would only slow them down and when the orcs _did_ catch them would only be a liability. But if he remained behind . . . it was possible that he would interest them long enough for the others to survive. Fíli and Kíli could live. All it would take would be a bit more pain and . . .

" I would understand if—"he offered, willing to give his life if it meant his nephews could live.

"Don't be a fool!" Fíli snapped cutting him off. "You're our king, we're not abandoning you to the orcs, are we?" That last bit was asked harshly as his icy blue gaze scanned the company and focused on his cousins.

When his attention shifted he did not notice the flinch that went through Thorin at the statement "you're our king." He had known that Fíli did not see him as an uncle but . . . having it thrown at him _now_ . . . it hurt. And then for Fíli not even to claim him beyond his kingship to the group. _you're **our** king, _ he'd said. Not _you're **my** king. _ Fíli only barely acknowledged any relationship at all. The only person who seemed to notice at all was Bofur, who offered Thorin a small smile and a gentle squeeze of his wrist, but said nothing.

Silence had met Fíli's words, but no one dared to contradict him. Even so, they couldn't bring themselves to meet his eyes. Loyalty to Thorin aside, he had already proven that he made poor choices and he was only going to slow their escape and he was willing to be left behind. Logically it made sense but none of them wanted to be the one to tell Fíli that they were going to abandon their king—not after his near explosion that afternoon over them siding with him—and none of them wanted to tell Dís that they had abandoned Kíli and Thorin to death. Because there was no doubt in any of their minds that if they left Thorin Kíli would stay as well and Fíli would have them all executed for treason if his brother was abandoned. There was no other choice.

"No," Balin replied tersely after too much time had passed to pretend it had been his first thought and feeling oddly shamed by Fíli's glare. He almost felt as if the prince was able to read the thoughts that had led up to his decision. With a deep sigh, he turned to his king, "We won't abandon you, Thorin. We swore to follow you. Can't do that if you're behind us, can we?"

"Besides," Dwalin said with a shrug. "I always knew that this might be a suicide mission. Good a reason to die as any." The words did not have the comforting quality that Fíli knew the old warrior had intended them to have, instead of smiling, Thorin's face took on a pained expression as though he had been stabbed.

"That's enough talk," Fíli said shortly feeling strangely protective of Thorin and angry with Dwalin for hurting him so callously. What had made him think that Thorin would want to hear that even one of his oldest friends have never believed that they would succeed?

"We need to move. Find somewhere we can defend. Somewhere they can't surround us," Fíli continued, feeling foolish for having to say what he knew they all already knew. Rather than make fun of him, the others nodded and shouldered their packs before setting off in the same direction they had been going at the quickest clip that Thorin could manage. It was readily apparent to all of them that they would never get far. Thorin was far too slow and the wargs too fast, their howls growing closer and more numerous by the moment.

"Leave me!" Thorin snapped as Dwalin came to take Bofur's place at his side and he and Dori half carried the wounded king between them. It wasn't a pace that Thorin could manage and he was stumbling between them, his feet only managing to touch every third step or so.

"Can't," Dwalin replied shortly.

"It's an order," Thorin countered. "I command you to leave me and make sure that Fíli and Kíli survive. They _cannot_ die like this, Dwalin. Forget about me and keep them alive. Forget about Erebor and take them back to Dís. Let her mend what I've broken and help Fíli be the king he is capable of being."

"Does he seem like he's in his right mind to you?" Dwalin asked Dori.

"I . . ." Dori said trying to figure out what he should say. Thorin was clearly talking nonsense but . . . could he really _say_ that his King was not in control of his faculties?

"That's a no," Dwalin snorted seeing the indecision in the other dwarf's face. "Sorry, Thorin. That's two of us that think you've gone mad. In that case, Fíli's orders stand over yours. You're coming with us."

"Fíli's not in his right mind either!" Thorin countered. "He's angry, impulsive . . . his orders are less sound than my own. Leave me for the good of the company!"

"And Kíli?" Dwalin demanded. "Is his mind sound?" Thorin grumbled in ascent. Kíli seemed to still be of sound mind.

"He's a child," Thorin replied, looking for an out. He knew what Kíli would say and he would never forgive himself if one of them—any of them—died because he was too slow. Kíli would never allow them to leave him, and he was still surprised that Fíli wouldn't. If he was in Fíli's place _he_ would have allowed the dwarf that had neglected him to be left to the wargs. He couldn't say that he would be willing to risk his own life to ensure that the other dwarf made it. Not after such a betrayal.

"He's on this quest," Dwalin snapped, pulling Thorin back to the present argument rather than his musing on Fíli's strange behavior. "He wasn't too much of a child for you to allow him to risk his life, was he?" Thorin seemed to crumble under the accusation that he was willing to risk the life of a child on a suicide mission, even if it was true, and Dwalin and Dori found themselves supporting even more of his weight.

"Kíli?" Dwalin called causing the young dwarf to sprint to come up beside him. "You're uncle just ordered us to abandon him, what do you think about that?" Thorin watched as Kíli's eyes hardened, much like Dís' did when she was livid and knew that the answer would be violent before it was ever spoken.

"Do it and not even Mahal himself will save you," Kíli snarled. "You told me yourself that he's given to melancholy, Balin told me he's suicidal. Abandon him and sign your own death warrant. If Fíli won't actually sign it, I'll do it anyway. Or Mother will."

"See?" Dwalin asked jostling Thorin. "I can't abandon you. You'll just have to move a bit faster."

"Can't," Thorin panted, his legs going out from under him and dragging Dori down with him. "Can't . . . breathe . . . now. Need . . . "

"You can, Uncle," Kíli said, placing a hand on his face. "You _have_ to get up. You can't stop. Come on. They can't carry you, not if they're going to have the energy to fight. You _have_ to get up. You have to try. Do it for me. For Fíli." Thorin said nothing, but he closed his eyes and his face twisted into a grimace as he forced his feet back under him, feeling his head spin as he did.

"Good," Kíli praised, feeling his heart clench as his uncle's face went white and his lips blue at the effort. "That's good." If his tone was too tense, Kíli pretended that he couldn't hear it. But even if he couldn't, Thorin could and when he forced his eyes open, Kíli's tense smile brought him nothing but pain. And then pain and conscious though faded.

Kíli looked up at Dwalin as his uncle's blue eyes slid out of focus, though Thorin stayed on his feet and continued to breath. His face was still ashen and his lack of coherency worried the young dwarf.

"Uncle?" Kíli asked in a small voice, reaching out a hand to touch Thorin only to be stopped within inches by Dwalin's large, tattooed hand. He turned curious, worried brown eyes on the older warrior and Dwalin sighed.

"Don't rouse him. It's better this way, Kíli," Dwalin promised. "He's still alive, he's just slipped away inside himself. What we're asking of him . . . it's too much. He . . . he may not survive this, lad. I hate to be the one to say it but . . . even if we keep him with us . . .  what with the blood loss, excruciating pain and exertion . . . his heart may give out, Kíli. You need to know that." Dwalin watched as Kíli absorbed his words, the young heir's face going white beneath his dark hair. Kíli let out a shocked breath before turning to look for his brother, fear and pain in his eyes just as Fíli burst back through the underbrush and ordered them to follow him.

**ooOO88OOoo**

When Thorin faltered and the rest of the group stopped to wait for Kíli to get him back up, Fíli ran ahead a bit, trying to find something, _anything_ that they could use to protect their rear. He had seen just how pale Thorin was and knew that he wouldn't make it much farther before collapsing. They had to find somewhere close by to make a stand.

He had just given up hope when he found it: a bit of land jutting out over a sheer drop. It wasn't _ideal_. There was no escape route if they failed to hold, but it wasn't as if they were going to escape at any rate. Thorin could run no farther. If they failed to hold . . . they were all dead anyway. At least the cliff would give them a chance. Having made a decision, he sprinted back to the others and led them to the cliff, praying that he had made the right decision and hadn't just led them all to their deaths.

He watched with baited breath as the older warriors looked around, quickly taking in his choice and both its benefits and shortcomings. He only breathed again when Glóin and Dwalin exchanged a look and nod as to the adequateness of the location. He sighed at the realization that he hadn't chosen so poorly after all.

"Now what, lad?" Balin asked, knowing that making a plan would help Fíli's mood immensely. He was wrong. The pressure of coming up with a strategy when all of their lives depended on him making the right decision was more than Fíli could handle at the moment and both Thorin and Kíli could see the panic in his blue eyes at Balin's words before he closed them.

 Fíli closed his eyes for a moment trying to block out the howls that were growing closer by the second and think through everything he had ever learned about strategy and come up with a plan. He could feel his heart racing in his chest as he tried to calm his frantic thoughts and come up with _one_ plan from all of the hundreds of ideas. It wasn't working. He could feel panic beginning to grip him as he realized that he had no idea what to do. No matter how he tried to spin this, he couldn't see a way they could all come out of it alive. He fought the urge to sob as he realized that he had led them to their deaths. They had trusted him and he had failed them.

"What about the trees?" Nori asked quietly, seeing Fíli's distress and wanting to help the young dwarf. "We could climb them. Wargs are powerful but even they can't climb trees. We could pick them off until we could fight them on the ground." There were a few murmurs of agreement before Kíli spoke, his tone both sarcastic and biting.

"And what?" he demanded. "Leave Uncle down below as bait to lure them to us? He can't climb. There's no way. I . . . I don't even know that I can. I'm not saying that _you_ can't go into the trees, but some of us aren't so lucky."

"I. . . I can't climb," Bilbo added quietly. "Hobbits . . . we don't do heights."

"So the trees are not an option," Fíli said, trying to think about another and feeling both frustrated and a bit irritated that with so many seasoned warriors it fell to him and the others to make plans. What was the point of bringing them along in the first place? He fisted his left hand in his hair as he tried to think, cursing himself yet again for his stupidity. Why couldn't he come up with a plan? Why was he so worthless!? Time was short. He _had_ to do something!

"Do _something_ ," Kíli hissed at Dwalin as he watched Fíli begin to melt down once more. "Think of something. He's not going to get there. Don't stand there and let him struggle and fail!"

With Kíli's brown eyes glaring at him so fiercely, Dwalin was reminded of Dís' words in his house so many months ago. ' _Do not set him up to fail',_ she had said. But wasn't that what they had always done? Hadn't Fíli always been set up to fail? Given expectations he could never reach? Wasn't it clear that he was damaged and that they were just as much to blame for it as Thorin—who was damaged in his own right. For half a moment Dwalin wondered if it wouldn't be kinder for them all if it was to end there that night. he would need feel no more shame and guilt, Fíli no more pain, Thorin no more guilt. Death was an alluring option.

As Dwalin's dark eyes went distant, Kíli turned to the one person he had always depended on. Thorin's eyes were unfocused and he jumped a bit at Kíli's touch, a moan leaving his mouth at the motion but Kíli had no idea what else to do. Fíli was breaking, Dwalin had withdrawn. No one else that had experience with this wanted anything to do with him, that left his uncle.

"Uncle," Kíli pleaded placing both hands on Thorin's cheeks and resting his forehead against his uncle's as he admitted the worst thing a dwarf could admit to: fear of death. "Do something. I know you can't fight but . . . tell us how. I . . . I know I said that this quest was worth whatever price but . . . I . . . I don't want to die. I . . . I'd like to see Mother again. Please. I can't think of anything. I . . ." Kíli couldn't even bring himself to feel ashamed of the tears that fell from his eyes to roll down his uncle's cheeks and into his beard.

At Kíli's pleas and the feel of his nephew's tears on his face, Thorin pulled himself back out of the peaceful state he had fallen into, embracing the pain once more in his desire to help Kíli. For the first time, Thorin looked around and realized that they were on a cliff. When he turned his head, Kíli released him, tears still clinging to his lashes. The tears were like an arrow through his heart.

"Your brother?" he breathed, knowing that something had to have happened to Fíli for Kíli to be so upset. Kíli jerked with his head towards where Fíli was panting and shuddering as he tried to think.

"What—"

"We . . . we need a plan and no one is offering one and Fíli . . . he's _trying_ , Uncle," Kíli said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "But . . . and I can't . . . and the orcs are coming and we're trapped and we don't know what to do and no one's helping and we can't climb the trees and—"

"Hush," Thorin said gently trying to silence Kíli's frantic speach that was growing in both volume and pitch as his panic took him. "I understand. Now, we need to form a ring. There, where the cliff is the narrowest. With the best warriors on the outside, others capable of wielding a weapon behind them and the noncombatants behind that. It's our only chance." The other's had turned at the sound of his voice and were already in motion carrying out this new plan.

There was some debate about where to put Fíli and Kíli, as both were skilled warriors but injured. Fíli protested that he could still fight with one hand but yielded when the argument was made that since he was accustomed to fighting with two swords, fighting with just one—and his less dominant hand at that— would be imprudent. So he and his brother were designated as a third line of defense for Ori, Bilbo and Thorin should the first two fall. There were a few snorts when Gandalf climbed into a tree as they assembled but none dared to call the wizard on his perceived cowardice.

"It looks as though I get my wish after all, Thorin," Fíli said with a hint of a smile as he reminded his king of his refusal to accept his sword the day before.

"I would that it were otherwise," Thorin replied, looking up at his nephew sadly from where he leaned against a tree between Bilbo and Ori, both of whom had their own weapons out, Bilbo's shaking in his hands and the blade growing a brilliant blue.

"Fíli," Thorin said as his nephew turned to face the orcs as the first warg broke through the undergrowth. He turned back, sadness in his blue eyes. "If there's a choice that has to be made on who lives—"

"I know," Fíli said cutting him off. "I'll choose Kíli if I have to chose between the two of you. Don't worry. I didn't forget that lesson . . . unlike I clearly did the one on strategizing."

"You need to let me finish," Thorin said with a soft smile. "I was going to say if the choice is between saving your life or mine save _yours_. I know that you think I am lying to you, but I do love you, Fíli. Please do not force me to watch you slain before me for my sake. Please. Let them kill me first." Fíli looked at Thorin as if he had grown a second head. The words and tone and his expression . . . they were so _gentle_. It was Kíli's smile again and it was directed at him. He couldn't make it make sense. Thorin was his King. Kings didn't smile like that at subjects or heirs. It made no sense.

Thorin watched as Fíli's face twisted as he tried to make sense of what had just been said. However, just as his nephew opened his mouth to speak, the battle began and Fíli had to turn to face their foes. Thorin closed his eyes and prayed that they would make it through this alive. The others at least, especially Fíli and Kíli, even if he couldn't. He heard Dwalin's roar of rage and felt Kíli's grip around his arm tighten suddenly and opened his eyes only to believe he had drifted off to sleep and fallen into a nightmare. On the other side of the line of dwarves, at the head of the pack, was none other than the white orc himself: Azog the Defiler.

"No," Thorin breathed, feeling tears begin to prickle his eyes as he realized that they were all dead. Azog would kill them all. For the first time he was glad that Fíli had unbraided his hair. At least this way Azog would have a more difficult time connecting him to the line of Durin with his blonde hair, though the blue eyes might give him away. But Kíli . . . he looked too much like Thorin to pass as some random dwarf and the way that he was clinging to him . . . Kíli would be easy to connect. Not that it mattered. They were all dead anyway but maybe, if they could avoid being linked to him as kin, maybe this way their deaths would be quicker. Valliant deaths in battle rather than the fate that he knew awaited him. He _knew_ that he would die and he also knew that it wouldn't be any time soon and that even when the time did come it would not be quick. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are all, so sorry about the delay. School went absolutely crazy the last couple of weeks and RL's been a bit hectic. I hope that this was worth the wait!


	32. Things That Must Never be Spoken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up on this one, Thorin's still in a dark mood and it's a bit contagious in light of where they are and what's going on. There are mentions of suicide in this, yes, there's been an undercurrent for a while but this time it is very specific. While there is NOT an actual suicide, I know that this topic really bothers some people so I wanted you to be forewarned. Though I suppose if you've made it this far you're not too easily disturbed.

Kíli felt his blood freeze in his veins when he first laid eyes on the orcs. He had heard about them his entire life, though never from his uncle and when Thorin entered a room any story that contained orcs would halt immediately to be replaced by something else—which he had never understood and no one would explain to him, not even his mother. But despite all the aborted tales, he had still heard of them. But even that hadn't prepared him for the truth of the matter. And none of the tales he had been told had said just how _big_ they were.

In his mind's eye, they had been no bigger than a dwarf. Even when he'd seen them on the plains he hadn't realized how big they were. He had also thought they were built similarly, just uglier and misshapen. His mental picture of them had changed a bit since Goblin Town, morphing so that they were just large goblins. They looked nothing like he had imagined. It wasn't until he saw one going axe to scimitar with Dwalin that he realized just how outmatched they might be. Dwalin, who was one of the tallest dwarves he knew, only came up to about the chest of the orc, and it was just a broad as he was, though not as bulky. And it was strangely proportioned,  its arms were much longer than they should have been, abnormally long, _grotesquely_ long. His grip on his uncle unconsciously tightened as he realized that with those long arms, that orc could have its hands around his neck and his sword might never even be able to make contact with its body.

He quickly released his hold on his uncle's arm when he heard Thorin say 'no.' He turned to apologize for hurting him only to see that his uncle's eyes were wide with an emotion that he couldn't place. He was also shocked to see tears there.

"Uncle?" he asked quietly dropping to his knees, his voice barely audible over the din of battle that surrounded them. Thorin gave no sign that he had heard and his eyes remained locked on whatever he was looking at as the word "no" kept falling from his lips in a continuous litany. Kíli looked away, trying to follow Thorin's gaze and seeing nothing but orcs. He understood the fear but this seemed like a bit of an overreaction—even taking into account Thorin's helpless state—and he found himself wondering if this was why orcs were never mentioned in his uncle's presence.

"Uncle?" he tried a little louder placing a hand on Thorin's cheek . At that, Thorin turned to him with wide, panicked eyes before gripping Kíli's upper arms over the bruises that Fíli had left a few days before. His uncle didn't even notice when Kíli began squirming in discomfort as the bruises ached at the pressure Thorin was exerting.

"Don't call me that," Thorin breathed desperately. "Please. Not now."

"Un—" Kíli began only to cut off with a small whimper as his uncle's hands tightened on his arms.

"Kíli, if you have _ever_ listened to a single thing I have said in your entire life, listen to me now," Thorin panted, his blue eyes still wild. "You _cannot_ call me that at the moment. If you _have_ to address me and can't bring yourself to call me by my name, call me your king. Do you understand me, lad?" Kíli nodded, his eyebrows pinched together from the pain in his arms.

"Good," Thorin said releasing him and patting him on the shoulder. "Good lad. Now, my sword is sticking out of that bag by the tree. Fetch it." Kíli made to get up but was stopped by Fíli's hand on his shoulder. He looked up at his brother, who shook his head.

"I'll get it," Fíli said quietly, squeezing his brother's shoulder gently before releasing him. He didn't know why Thorin wanted the sword, but he had no intention of allowing Kíli to injure himself further fetching things. "You just stay there."

Kíli nodded and remained where he was, absently fingering the fletching on an arrow and wondering if he had it in him to draw his bow. There were more than a few good shots to be had if he could. He rolled his shoulder experimentally, wincing as the movement made his back throb. No, he couldn't.

"Don't even think about it," Fíli said as he walked by and handed Thorin his sword. He'd seen the look in Kíli's eyes and knew exactly what his brother was thinking. He also knew that it was a bad idea. Kíli couldn't _stretch_ when he woke up. There was no way he was going to be able to draw a bow. Not without at least reopening his wounds again, if not making them worse.

"I can do it," Kíli snarled, glaring at his brother, his own assessment of the situation forgotten in light of Fíli forbidding him from trying and his temper at the situation taking the outlet Fíli was providing. "I'm not an invalid. I can still fight."

"Can you?" Fíli asked sharply. "Somehow I doubt that, Brother." Even though Kíli knew that his brother was right and that the odds of him drawing his bow  well enough to kill were slim, it hurt that Fíli had so little faith in him. His hurt combined with his fear for his life and caused him to fire off the first thing that came to mind.

"Don't speak to me like I'm a child," Kíli snapped. "I'm not. I'm not the one falling to pieces and lashing out at others. I'm not the one who was too afraid to—"

"Kíli!" Thorin cut him off, knowing that whatever his youngest nephew was about to say it wouldn't be good. And the last thing they needed at the moment was a repeat of Fíli and Kíli's brawl from the day before. Not when there was a troop of orcs led by Azog attacking them and not when there was no one to pull them off of each other if the need arose.  

"What Uncle!?" Kíli demanded, ignoring the promise he had made to Thorin only moments before. "Can you tell me that he—"

"Now is not the time, Kíli," Thorin continued, staring down his nephew and willing the lad to silence. With a huff, Kíli broke eye contact and went back to inspecting the fletching on his arrow. "Kíli," Thorin said drawing back his nephew's attention, "I wasn't done speaking to you, lad. Take this. Give me yours and take this." Kíli looked at him as though he were crazy as Thorin extended the handle of his sword to his nephew.

"I've got a sword," Kíli replied shaking his head. "I . . . I don't . . . I can't." Fíli and Ori were just as shocked—though again, Bilbo missed the significance of the act—the only reason that a dwarf parted with his weapon was if he was dying and wanted kin to avenge his death with it. For Thorin to offer his sword to Kíli . . . he truly didn't believe that he was going to survive this.

"This one is lighter," Thorin argued not understanding where their minds had gone as he believed that he had made it clear that it was a temporary trade and not a relinquishment. "It's also longer. With your wounds . . . can you even _lift_ your own sword, Kíli?" As the younger dwarf moved to draw his weapon he was stopped by his uncle's hand on his wrist. "Don't. Just take mine. Protect yourself."

"I . . . I can't do it," Kíli protested, looking to his brother with his brown eyes pleading for backup on this. "I can't avenge you. There's no need. You're not going to die."

"Mahal, lad!" Thorin growled. "I'm not giving it to you. I'm _lending_  it to you. I'm not dying." _Sadly_ , he mentally added. _It would be easier on us all if I was_. "Just take it for now. Your brother has my armor, you take my sword. If it comes to it, the two of you can protect yourselves for me where I can't, though you have the same order as Fíli. If you have to make a choice between my life or yours, protect your life and your brother's over mine. Do you understand me, Kíli?" Kíli nodded and laid his own sword beside his uncle before taking Thorin's. Content that Kíli was going to do as he was told, Thorin quickly turned away from him to scan the battle before them.

It was simultaneously going better than he had hoped and worse than he had feared. So far, though they all seemed to have suffered minor wounds, no one was dead. However, it seemed that for every orc or warg they slew, another was prepared to take its place. And the newcomers were fresh, rested, fed. Everything that the dwarves were not.  Even if they were holding their own now . . . they wouldn't be able to win. And from their desperation, he could tell that they knew it as well.

Once he was certain that his company was still in one piece, his eyes began to scan the battlefield of their own accord, only stopping again when they had locked on the merciless eyes of Azog once more. But the pale orc's focus was not on him. At first glance it would almost seem that it was, but it was just off to the side, a triumphant grin on his face. Thorin turned his head and felt his blood freeze as he realized the object of Azog's attention: Fíli.

His eldest was standing beside Kíli, his sharp blue eyes following every movement of the battle before him and the tension in his frame making it clear that he wanted to join. Thorin couldn't help but feel pride at Fíli's determination, even through his fear for his nephew. Following that surge of pride was a sense of determination of his own, the first in days. Fíli and Kíli _would_ survive this. If it was the last thing he did on this earth _they_ would live. To touch them, Azog would have to come through him.

With this new fire in his veins, Thorin searched Azog back out, prepared to show the orc just how little power he held over the King of Durin's Folk in Exile. His plan failed, his anger and determination once more turning to dread and despair as Azog looked from him to Fíli to Kíli, a malicious smile stretching across his features—the same smile he had worn as he threw Thror's head at his grandson. He knew.

 Thorin didn't know how, but somehow Azog had worked it out. He knew what the lads meant to Thorin and he was going to kill them, slowly, painfully. The promise was all there in his eyes, his smirk. And there was nothing Thorin could do to stop him. He could see it in Azog's eyes. Thorin's death alone would not please him. Even if he threw himself between the orc and his nephews and sacrificed his body for their sakes, Azog would not kill him. Not yet. He would force him to watch as Fíli and Kíli were slowly slaughtered. Then and only then would Thorin be allowed to die. And he knew that their lifeless eyes would be the last thing in this life he saw.

And that was if Thorin was lucky. If not . . . he wouldn't put it beyond Azog to give him a choice. The orc could wound his nephews, fatally but not instantly so. He was certain that Azog had the skill to do it. To stab them just deeply enough to shred their innards but not deeply enough that they would bleed to death. A slow, painful death. One that would take days. Days during which they would weep, and scream, and beg to die. Would he chain them so they couldn't even writhe? Or would he give Thorin just enough chain that he could _almost_ hold them? Or break his hands but allow him to be within range that he could touch them but still be unable to do so? Or give him the choice he dreaded: the choice to watch them suffer or to end their lives himself. Could he do that if it came down to it? Could he kill Fíli or Kíli to spare them pain?

A brief flash of both of them looking up at him from under their hair as children shot through his mind and he knew that he couldn't. He could not end their lives, even to save them pain. _I'm so sorry, Dís_ , he though as tears once more threatened to fall. _Sister, I . . . I've failed. I failed you, and them. Forgive me._

It was then that Azog chose to charge, his warg surging beneath him and within two strides barreling into the front line knocking both Balin and Dwalin over. Thankfully, they were both back on their feet within seconds and turned to assist Bofur and Dori in combating the warg and the white orc. Before Fíli could stop him, Kíli had loosed an arrow and felled an orc that was about to stick a sword through Dwalin's back just as Bifur stuck his spear through it, though the effort made him cry out and left him panting.

"Help me up," Thorin demanded of no one in particular while his nephews bickered over whether what Kíli had done had been stupid or necessary—as Fíli claimed to have seen Bifur while Kíli hadn't. An argument that only intensified when a  blue flaming pinecone came down from Gandalf's tree, sticking to a warg and sending it howling into one of its fellows catching the second warg on fire as well. A green flaming pinecone followed, this one aimed at an orc that was after Balin.  

"I . . . I don't think that's a good idea," Bilbo replied quietly, clearly uncomfortable saying no and looking to Fíli and Kíli for back-up but they were still involved in their own argument and it was rapidly becoming more heated as Kíli demanded to know just how he was supposed to know that Gandalf was going to throw flaming pinecones or Bifur come from nowhere and stating that if Fíli had that kind of foresight may things could have been avoided.  

"I do not recall asking for your opinion," Thorin countered. "Now, help me up." With one final longing glance at Fíli and Kíli, Bilbo sheathed his little sword and stood as he and Ori tried to assist Thorin to his feet.

"I'm sorry!" Bilbo cried as he grabbed in the wrong place, causing Thorin to cry out.

"What are you doing?" Fíli demanded, his fight with his brother halted in light of his uncle's pain. He was shocked to see the tiny hobbit gripping Thorin's arm and attempting to pull him to his feet. Under any other circumstance he might have found the sight amusing. As it was, he could see no good coming from this particular experiment and could only see both of them winding up injured if this continued.

"I don't know," Bilbo replied, glaring at the young heir. "Here, either you convince him that this is a foolish idea or _you_ help him. I . . . I can't do this. "

"And what is it that you are trying to get our burglar to do, Thorin?" Fíli asked levelly as he moved forward to take Bilbo's place, much to Bilbo's relief.

"I want on my feet," Thorin snapped, Fíli's tone irritating him. It was the same one Dís used when she thought any of them were being foolish, and it grated his already raw nerves to hear it directed at him from his nephew. He didn't even tolerate it well from his sister.

"It is not an unreasonable request," he continued. "I'd rather not sit here and wait for the orcs to come decapitate me while I cower like a frightened child. _We_ may know that I can't defend myself. _They_ don't need to."

" _Can_ you stand, Un—my king?" Kíli asked quietly, his face contorting as the title left his mouth.

"I can do what I must, lad," Thorin replied with a sharp nod of approval that Kíli had listened to directions for once and looking away from Fíli's pained expression at his harshness. "I can even hold a sword if that's what it takes. Swinging one . . . now that's a different story, but I _can_ hold one. Make a good show of it."

"And make a target of yourself," Bilbo muttered, thinking that he would not be overheard over the clamor of battle. He was wrong.

"I am already a target, Hobbit," Thorin said coldly, noting that despite Bilbo's words about swords making you a target,  his own was back in his hand. "I may as well make it look as though I'm not a helpless one." Bilbo disagreed with the assessment, but said nothing. It was clear, even to him, that Thorin had made up his mind. With a sigh, Fíli sheathed his sword and grasped Thorin, dragging the older dwarf to his feet, ignoring Thorin's sharp intake of breath at the abrupt movement. Once that was done, Fíli remained where he was long enough for Thorin to adjust to the new position before backing away slightly and redrawing his own sword.

"I just hope you know what you're doing," Fíli said, his eyes showing the concern that wasn't in his voice. _So do I, Fíli_ , Thorin thought, though he said nothing and merely nodded his thanks before turning his attention back to the battle that was still raging before him. Azog's warg had been slain, but the white orc was still holding his own against the battle-weary dwarves attacking him. In fact, the beast's death seemed to have enraged him further. Even as Thorin watched, Dori took a rather savage blow to the side, going down and not getting up. Nori was instantly in his place, protecting his brother and attacking the orc, but the quarters were too close for Nori to be truly effective without hindering the others.

"Kíli?" Thorin breathed. "If you can't do it, say so. I will think no less of you. But . . . do you think you have one more shot in you, lad?" Kíli looked into the broiling mass of dwarf and orc before raising his empty bow and giving it an experimental pull. He hadn't even managed to half draw it before the pain became unbearable and he had to release the string.

"No," he said quietly, refusing to make eye contact with any of them. "I . . . I can't. I'm sorry."

"It's fine, lad," Thorin said, trying to keep the disappointment from his voice. It would have solved so many problems if Kíli could have just taken out the white orc. While Thorin would have liked to have finished the job himself, he knew that the task was beyond him. All he truly cared about now was that the orc died before he could harm Fíli or Kíli. But then again, on some level, Thorin had expected that answer. After all, fate had never been kind to Thorin; he saw no reason that it should begin to do so now.  Instead he decided to prepare himself and his boys for the worst.

"Prepare yourselves, lads," Thorin whispered as more orcs joined their leader, trapped between the dwarves and the wall of fire that Gandalf's pinecones—through the assistance of the terrified wargs—had created. "Listen to me, both of you. Capture is not an option. Not for you. We will remain free or die trying. Do you understand what I am telling you? You _cannot_ allow yourselves to be captured."

"But . . . Un—how can we stop it from happening if we lose?" Kíli asked, his eyes painfully wide and innocent. Far too innocent for what Thorin was implying and he knew that Kíli would never understand what he was suggesting. Fíli, however, he understood. His blue eyes went wide before they closed, a grimace spreading across his face as he fought to control himself. When his eyes reopened, there was a sadness there that was like a knife through Thorin's heart.

"Is . . . is there truly no hope, then?" Fíli asked quietly, ignoring his younger brother's question. Fíli knew that there was one, horrible way to stop themselves from being captured. And if Thorin was suggesting it . . . things were truly bleak. Suicide was a taboo subject and never brought up, or even aluded to, lightly.

Thorin could find no way to voice his lack of hope, but the sadness in his eyes and the somber shake of his head said what his voice could not. There was no hope. Not for them. The orcs were too many and their own warriors too few.

"Of-of course there is!" Kíli said looking between his somber brother and uncle in confusion. "We're still alive! There's always hope as long as you're alive. Isn't that what we've always been taught?!"  What had he missed? The situation was truly no more dire than it had been moments before. It even looked as though they might win. He understood that his uncle was depressed and a bit suicidal but Fíli . . . what had happened to make Fíli agree with him? Fíli wasn't suicidal. He could feel himself begin to panic even in the face of their calm. He glanced at Bilbo and Ori but they seemed to have sided with his uncle and brother, Bilbo having sunk back to the ground and picking at a flower growing there with tears in his brown eyes while Ori gazed longingly at his brothers.

Again Kíli's outburst was ignored as Thorin and Fíli's eyes locked and they both came to an understanding. Fíli understood that Thorin truly believed that there was no chance of survival and Thorin saw that Fíli was prepared to do what he must to protect Kíli from torture just as he had before. A glance at Kíli showed that he still hadn't caught on to what the elder two were implying, and part of Thorin hoped that he never did.

"If the line fails . . . if Azog breaks through—" Thorin began, before his voice faltered, unable to give the command for Fíli to end his own life and his brother's if necessary. He was unable to issue the order that would bar either one or both of them from the Halls of Mandos for eternity but physically incapable of killing either of them even if his heart would allow it.

"I will do what I must to avoid capture," Fíli said, a light dying within his eyes at the promise. He was well aware of what he had just promised and what it meant for him. He glanced at his baby brother, Kíli's confused eyes flicking between the two of them as he fought to understand what had just been agreed to and unable to do so. It was then that Fíli decided that no matter what happened, Kíli would not be barred from the afterlife. If it came down to it, Fíli was prepared to end Kíli's life himself to keep him from falling into Azog's hands.

  _Forgive me, Mother,_ Fíli thought at the realization. _I'm only willing to do what I must to protect him, like I promised. I won't allow him to suffer. I swear it. I only hope that you can forgive me._ Even as the plea for forgiveness went through his mind, so did a prayer, this one to Mahal himself. Fíli prayed as he never had in his life. He prayed that Kíli's blood would never have to be on his hands; that the Maker would offer them a different way out.

Even before he was done, he knew that it was futile. The Maker did not grant selfish prayers—which in a way this was. But more importantly, the Maker could not hear the prayers of cowards. And in his heart, Fíli knew that he was a coward. Mahal would not help him. Not now, not ever.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry. For some reason--not just that I've had no time--this chapter was horribly difficult to write and I'm still not truly happy with it. I would love to hear what you think! I will try not to let things go quite so long again.


	33. Smoke and Abject Failure

Dwalin paused for a moment until he was certain that the orc he had been fighting was dead before he turned back to attempt to take down that pale monstrosity once more. He had to admit that it was a blow to his pride that four of them were needed to hold their own against something that Thorin had taken on alone in his youth. His only comfort was that Thorin had had sheer unadulterated rage on his side while all they had was exhaustion and that was a boon to no one.

He shared a brief glance with Balin and saw in that instant that his brother was thinking the same thing that he was: their situation was hopeless. From the brief glimpses he had been able to get of the others, he could see that they knew it as well. Still, it warmed his heart and lightened his weary limbs to see them continuing to battle on. There was a grim determination in their eyes and motions that caused a dark smile to cross his face.

Before dawn came, the orcs may have taken their lives but they would take more than a few of the bastards with them before it happened. They would think twice before attacking a troupe of dwarves in the future. As uplifting as the thought was, he couldn't help the wave of regret that washed through him at breaking his promise to Dís. He had a brief flash of her sitting at home by her hearth waiting anxiously for news of her kin that would never come before he forced it back down and refocused on the battle at hand. He knew that such thoughts would not help, but rather hinder his efforts to stay alive and protect her sons and brother.

With a battle-cry, Dwalin lifted his war hammer and brought it down with a satisfying crunch on a orc that had been making a beeline for Nori as he stood over his fallen brother. Dori was still yet to stir and Dwalin wasn't sure if he was still breathing but he would not deny Nori the right to defend his fallen kin to his own death. No dwarf would.

A cry of pain from Kíli drew his attention as he wondered just what had managed to get past them and to the injured and he turned just in time to see one of the lad's arrows protruding from the neck of an orc directly behind him as Bifur's spear was through its chest. With a nod of thanks to the other warrior, Dwalin turned back to attempting to defend the dwarves that were attacking Azog from attacks by other orcs attempting to defend their own leader. 

A true laugh left his lips as Gandalf began lighting the wargs with his fireworks. _About time that wizard was **actually** useful_ , he thought bitterly as he spared a glance for the wargs writhing in agony as the flames stuck to their fur.

It was a sentiment that lasted a unbelievably short time, even in the heat of battle. The panicked animals set the underbrush aflame and made the battle all the more difficult. By trapping the orcs they had cut off any chance the creatures had of deciding that the dwarves were more trouble than they were worth and retreating. This was now, officially a battle to the death. Before, taking out Azog might have been enough to route the rest but now . . . there was no hope of that.

"Well, lads," Bofur said, his usual smile gone and grim determination in its place, "it was a pleasure questing with you. Too bad it had to end this way. I would have loved to see your mountain. Treasure or no."

"I'd have settled for a bit more of the free beer we were promised," Nori called with a laugh as he struck an orc. "I have half a mind to file a breach of contract. There was not near the beer I was told there would be."

"Aye!" Bofur agreed, striking out with his mattock. "What happened to the "rivers of beer?""

"Orcs and goblins," Glóin  growled. "Take that up with them. Swords are great negotiating tools when it comes to foul things."

After that, there was no talk as they took Glóin's advice and took out their frustrations over the last few days on the orcs that besieged them. Just as it appeared that they might have a chance, the second effect of Gandalf's flames began to surface: smoke. Thick white smoke that covered the battlefield and made seeing the dwarf next to you next to impossible, let alone the orc that was trying to kill you.

Now rather than thank the old wizard, Dwalin was cursing him to the fires of Mordor. If Gandalf had wanted them dead so badly couldn't he have just struck them down with lightning as he had the goblins? It would have been less painful than the deaths that awaited them now as the foul creatures darted out of the fog like ghosts and picked them off one by one. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest as his watering eyes raked the whiteness in vain. It was instinct alone that saved him as a sword came towards him from the right, the handle of his hammer catching it even if he hadn't seen it before he felt the impact.

It took nearly two more blows for him to recognize the wielder of the sword and try to stop the battle.

"You fool!" he snarled. "You nearly took my head off! You're not old enough to be senile yet, Brother." At that, Balin stopped mid swing and blinked through the smoke. With a shake of his head, he clasped Dwalin's forearm before positioning himself at his brother's back.

"I'm just glad I found you in this smoke," Balin replied, pushing back against Dwalin's bulk to shove his brother lightly. "I would have hated . . . I'm just glad we're together. It would have been a shame to die alone."

"Aye," Dwalin agreed. "Even if no one survives to sing them, let no one say that the sons of Fundin did not make an end worthy of song."

"Aye," Balin said. "We'll go down fighting. Together."

"Together," Dwalin repeated leaning closer to Balin briefly to draw comfort from his brother's presence. Neither of them spoke the words that they both wanted to, but there was no need. They knew what the other would say. Back-to-back, the two of them stood in the smoke, waiting for the inevitable. Despite what Dwalin had told Kíli earlier, suicide was the last thing on his mind. He was still breathing, he could still wield a weapon. There was still hope, even if it grew fainter by the moment. Despite all of his mistakes and regrets—or perhaps because of them—something in him refused to give up. If they wanted his life, he was not going to give it to them. They would have to take it from him in blood and pain. And when it was done, he would walk into the halls of Mandos, head held high and take his place next to his father and brother as a proud warrior. He would not die a coward's death. Not that night.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Fíli tried desperately to see through the smoke that had covered the battlefield, but it was hopeless. There was nothing to be seen of the battle once the smoke from Gandalf's pinecones spread. He could still hear the sounds of battle, but he could no longer see if the company was holding their own or if the fall that he had seen coming had already happened. His only comfort was that he could still hear battle cries and ringing metal. As long as those two things existed then at least one of the company still lived.

He glanced towards Thorin for reassurance only to realize that he could not see him, Bilbo or Ori either. It was almost as if he and Kíli were the only two people left in the world.

"I don't like this smoke," Kíli said with a cough. "Can't see anything." Even if he was useless as a archer, Kíli had still been comforted by the fact that he had been able to see what was happening. He was unaccustomed to being unable to see and found that the sounds of battle alone were worse than the battle itself had been. Especially the noises coming from the company. He flinched as he heard someone—Bofur?—cry out, but he was unable to tell without sight if it was a cry of victory or pain.

"Neither can they," Fíli replied, sensing Kíli's fear and frustration. Even if he shared the sentiment, he didn't want Kíli to suffer from it, not when he already knew how this was going to end. Kíli's last moments should be a lighthearted as possible. It failed.

"None of them can," Kíli said turning to him with concern written plainly on his face. "How . . . Fee, how can they _fight_ if they can't see?" Another cry, this one clearly one of pain, rent the air and answered that question better than Fíli ever could have. Kíli flinched and made to run forward but was stopped by Fíli.

"Let me go," the brunette said simply, his brown eyes begging Fíli to go along with the plan just as he had when they were children. "I . . . I can't just sit here and listen to this. I . . . I _need_ to help them, Fíli. _We_ need to help them. They need us. If we all fight together then . . . maybe . . . maybe there's a way out of this. Let's go."

" _Think_ about it, Kíli," the blonde sighed not releasing his hold on his brother's arm. "What are we going to do? You're injured and my hand's broken. We're _useless_ at the moment. That's why they put us back here with Bilbo and Ori in the first place. They _knew_ we were useless. They . . . they didn't _want_ us." As that thought crossed his mind, he realized that that one statement could sum up his life. _He_ wasn't wanted. He had never mattered. Not to anyone but his mother. And after what he was going to do . . . not even his mother would mourn him. Not after he killed Kíli and himself. No one would miss him in the afterlife because no one wanted him there.

"So what?" Kíli scoffed not understanding why the bit of life in Fíli's eyes died once more. "I think I can be helpful. If nothing else I can serve as a distraction. Throw pine cones or something. Give the others an edge. Just because they don't think we can help doesn't mean that we can't."

"Think," Fíli repeated sadly, his blue eyes still dead.  "How are you going to throw pinecones in this smoke?" As his brother's face twisted in thought, Fíli snorted to cover a sob at the innocence and youth that was about to be snuffed out. "You never think things through, Kíli.  And even if you _could_ get out there, find a pinecone, select a target and throw it without getting killed in the process, how many could you throw? Just stay here with me until it's over."

"As many as I needed to," Kíli snarled, his temper once more surfacing as Fíli doubted his physical abilites yet again. Hadn't the last few days at least proved that he was made of sterner stuff than most people gave him credit for? That he could endure what he had to to survive?

"Please, stay," Fíli said. He didn't have the energy to fight with his brother. Not now. Not so close to the end of it all.

"Al-alright," Kíli said shakily. He didn't like the despiration in his brother's eyes or the quaver in his voice as he had asked. He'd never seen Fíli so hesitant before. Not with him. He wondered what exactly his brother and uncle had been discussing earlier as it had clearly shaken Fíli. While he didn't believe that his brother would commit suicide, if staying beside him would keep it from happening, Kíli was more than willing to stay.

Despite his decision to stay with his brother, a series of shocked cries from the battlefield drew his attention and it was everything that he could do to keep from rushing headlong into the mess and attempting to defend their companions. As it was, his fists clinched and his breathing sped as he attempted to tamp down that impulse.

Suddenly, Bilbo's voice carried over the rest of the din, a simple word; "Thorin!" Though they both looked that direction, they could not see the others, just more smoke.

The sound was immediately followed by a sharp cry of pain from his uncle that was silenced nearly as quickly. Fíli closed his eyes at the sound. He knew what it meant. The time had come. Thorin had done his part and now the rest of it fell to him. Thorin was dead by his own hand or the blade of orcs. The how of it really didn't matter because if Thorin had fallen, the line had failed and the end was here.

"Kíli," Fíli whispered, the tears he was forcing back making his voice abnormally hoarse. He hoped that his brother thought it was a reaction to the smoke that was surrounding them. It was everything that he could do to not to sob as Kíli turned his wide brown eyes on him at the sound of his name. He was disgusted with what he was about to do, and with Kíli staring at him there was no way that he was ever going to be able to accomplish it. His eyes clearly begging Fíli to make it better, to tell him that their uncle was fine and that everything was going to be fine; the very things that Fíli could not do at this time. Fíli's only consolation was that it would all be over soon.

"Cl . . . close your eyes," Fíli ordered shakily, attempting to smile as he did. Though they narrowed, it wasn't in accordance with the order, but rather in suspicion. Kíli had seen how pathetic his brother's smile was and knew from experience that Fíli was up to something.

"Why?" Kíli asked  slowly, with a gesture at the battle that they could still hear even if they could no longer see it. "There's a _battle_ out there, Fíli! I can't close my eyes so that you can . . . I don't even know what you're wanting to do, but I can't . . . no. I won't."

"It's not like you can see anything anyway," Fíli snapped back his disgust for what he was about to do making his temper sharp before he forced it back down. This wasn't the time for fighting. They were both about to die. He didn't want his last words to his brother to be an argument. Especially as he would never make it to the afterlife to make up with Kíli. He wanted to be remembered fondly, if nothing else. Even if no one would mourn him, he couldn't stand the thought that Kíli would hate him or hate himself for what Fíli had been willing to sacrifice for his sake.

"Please, Kee," Fíli whispered, the tone fragile. "Just . . . just close them. For me. Just trust me. Please. Just trust me this one last time." Something about the desperation in his brother's tone spoke to him and Kíli found that he couldn't resist Fíli. Not over something so silly as this. Not when there was still a possibility that they were to die.

Instead of arguing, he nodded, his suspicion over his brother's recent melancholy and conversation with their uncle still strong but not strong enough to prevent it. He jumped at the feeling of Fíli's fingers in his hair and his brother's lips against his forehead and his eyes flew open of their own accord. Though this wasn't the first time that Fíli had kissed his forehead, there was something about it that he didn't like. It was almost as if there had been a sense of finality to that action.

"Fíli?" he breathed, his voice shaky and apprehension beginning to fill his gut as he realized why that kiss had felt so familiar. That was the same way their mother had said goodbye to them. Just like Fíli, she had spoken no words, she had just pressed a kiss to their brows and sent them on their way. Surely Fíli wasn't giving up and . . . Kíli shut that thought off. His brother would never commit suicide and leave him to face the orcs alone. Fíli wasn't a coward.  

"Hush," Fíli whispered, stroking through his brother's wild hair for the last time. It seemed silly the sheer number of times that Fíli had been jealous of it in the last couple of days. Of just how many times he had wished for that dark mop of hair rather than his own blonde strands. It almost seemed petty now. When he pulled back, his baby brother's panicked eyes hit him like a physical blow.

"Eyes closed, Kee," he reminded gently, carefully placing his right hand over them, the pressure just enough that he could feel that he was touching Kíli but not enough to make his broken hand scream in protest.  As quietly as he could, he drew one of his longest daggers in his left hand. _It will be quick,_ he promised himself. _Right between his ribs and into his heart. He won't feel it. The weapon's so sharp he won't feel it._ He took a deep shuddering breath to steady himself, his own eyes closed. He knew that if he waited any longer he would never be able to do it.

"Kíli, always remember that I loved you," he whispered, his voice lost in the screams of panic surrounding them. He was still readying himself when Kíli suddenly cried out and was wrenched away from him.

"No!" Fíli screamed opening his eyes and looking through the thick smoke in vain for sight of his brother. There was nothing. "No," he whimpered falling to his knees with his head in his hands as the enormity of what had just happened hit him. He had failed. He hadn't been able to protect Kíli. They had him now. His death would no longer be the painless thing that Fíli could have given him.

His last though as he felt claws wrap around his upper arms and lift him off the ground was that no matter what was coming, it was less than he deserved for such a failure followed by an apology to everyone he had let down. Two simple words that would never been enough to cover the sins of his shortcomings.

_I'm sorry._


	34. Is This Really How it Ends? and Pain

Eventually Fíli came to realize that he had been in the air for far too long. It confused him, as did the fact that though the hold on his arms was snug and secure, there was no pain coming from it. Whatever had him was not trying to hurt him, even though it was clear that it was not going to let him go. He also heard the strangest sound he had ever heard in his life. It almost sounded like his mother's good dress when she walked but that wasn't quite right either. And there were no jeers or curses.

Dreading what he might see but knowing that it was the only way to know what was going on, Fíli opened his eyes. And was greeted with the strangest sight he had ever seen; he was flying. Flying through the air! He glanced up and saw that the claws that had grabbed him weren't the claws of orcs, like he had believed, but rather the talons the most giant _bird_ he had ever seen. That sound, that he had been unable to place had been the wind in the bird's feathers.

As he looked again, he saw a great number of the company was likewise being dangled by giant birds—eagles, he realized when he could see more than just the underside of it. He could make out Gandalf, Bombur, Dwalin, and Balin but that was all that he was sure of. The bird's legs blocked his view to the sides and he was afraid of trying to turn around and causing himself to be dropped.  He could see other eagles, but he couldn't see if they had dwarves in their talons as well.

Part of him hoped that they did. Even if the birds intended to eat them it would most likely be a quicker death than they would have at the hands of the orcs, especially after a fair number of their prize had escaped them. Even so, he couldn't help by frantically search for his brother. He didn't see Kíli and it caused panic to claw its way up his chest. Surely his brother had been rescued. The eagles hadn't just _abandoned_ him to Azog. He wracked his brains trying to remember which direction his brother had been pulled from him but he couldn't remember. Part of him swore that Kíli had been pulled straight back and the other part was convinced that he had been pulled upward.

It was a question he was still asking himself when the eagle veered towards what was clearly a eyrie. Fíli heard a laugh leave his own throat as he realized that they had been saved from sudden death only to be fed to eaglets. He could see no other reason that they would be brought back to nests. He hadn't heard that there were giant eagles in the world that ate dwarf, but he couldn't say that he was surprised. It wasn't as if this quest had had any manner of luck thus far. And eaten by eagles would at least be an novel form of death.

He was still laughing, nearly hysterically at this point, when the bird released him about a foot above the ground. Rather than stand and prepare to defend himself, Fíli lay where he had fallen, staring up at the sky, laughing.

"We're . . . we're alive!" he heard Bilbo saying. "I . . . I thought we were dead for sure! Thorin said we were." At the hobbit's words, Fíli's laughter stopped and sorrow took its place. Thorin. Kíli had been right. There'd still been hope and Thorin . . . it was almost cruel when Fíli thought about it. If he'd just held on a moment longer before he killed himself . . . even with all that had happened between them, Fíli couldn't help but mourn his passing. Especially in so ignoble a way. Suicide. No king had ever died by his own hand and Thorin didn't deserve to be remembered that way. He'd done right by their people, even if he had wronged Fíli.

"Speaking of," Dwalin said, glancing around. "Where is Thorin? We're still missing quite a few but—"

"He's dead," Fíli said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Thorin was killed in the attack."

"No he wasn't," Bilbo argued. "He—"

"Was killed in the attack," Fíli repeated more forcefully, sitting up and pleading with his eyes for Bilbo to keep his mouth shut. If he would then Thorin's suicide could be kept between them. The others never had to know. They never had to know what Thorin and Fíli had agreed upon. There didn't need to be shame.

 Even if Fíli couldn't help but feel it. For all his brother's immaturity and foolishness, Kíli had had it right. Death hadn't been the answer. And not only had he enabled Thorin's suicide by bringing him a weapon and foolishly agreeing to go along with it, but he had nearly killed his brother. If that bird had been only a second later . . . it didn't even bear consideration. With what he'd planned, Kíli would have died. Nothing they could have done would have saved him and he would have died alone, afraid and in the claws of a giant eagle. He felt his hands begin to shake as the reality of the situation sank in; he'd been prepared to _kill_ his own brother.

How had he managed to get to such a _dark_ place? And that wasn't the only thing he'd done lately that he didn't understand. Even a week ago, had someone told him that he would have done half the things he had done in the past few days he would have called them a liar, or a drunk. Some of it he could justify. Torturing Thorin, for instance. Not only had he had Thorin's blessing, but he'd done it for the right reasons. It wasn't to get information for a goblin, it had been to protect his brother. The same brother he'd almost killed. 

But the rest of it—fighting with everyone, his paranoia, cutting Kíli, preparing to _murder_ Kíli—he could find no rationalization for it. He was being foolish. No one was out to get him—save Azog, and that was hardly personal. His uncle had never been intentionally cruel to him and the last words that they had shared . . . Thorin had been so open, so kind. He truly had loved him, even if he hadn't shown it. And the others: when he thought about what he had been thinking of them in the last day, he wanted to laugh at his own stupidity. What sense would it have made for them to allow Thorin's coldness? He was the next in line for the throne. It made no sense for them to allow him to be demoralized. They would have said something to someone had they noticed and he doubted they'd even noticed that there was a difference. It wasn't like they watched Thorin's every interaction with Fíli and examined it for inflection and warmness. They had better things to do with their time.

He couldn't believe how self-centered he'd been. He knew that he owed them all an apology for his behavior. And Kíli . . . he owed his brother an apology as well. Not just for his plans to kill him—which Kíli never needed to know about—but also his coldness in the last few days. They could have died and Fíli had wasted what could have been their last days being angry over his brother saying something stupid when they were in a life-or-death situation. At least Kíli hadn't tried to _kill_ him.

Speaking of his brother . . . where was Kíli? The elation that survival and escape had caused evaporated as suddenly as it had come as worry for his brother once more surfaced. He looked around quickly and saw that Kíli wasn't with them. In fact, "them" consisted strictly of Bilbo, Dwalin, Glóin, Bombur and himself. And there were no more eagles in the sky. He felt cold and numb as he realized that they were all that was left. The others were dead. Kíli was dead. He was alone. He leaned against the rock wall behind him and stared out at the vastness of Middle Earth, his mind blank save for one though: _I'm alone_.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Unlike Fíli, Kíli took no pleasure in his rescue. Not that he wasn't thankful for being rescued, he was, but if he'd had his way he wouldn't  have been rescued _quite_ that way. He knew he was being ungracious, but he was having difficulty being courteous when the bird's feet were digging into the bruises on his arms and each beat of its wings caused pain to race along his spine as he was jarred. He closed his eyes and just tried to keep breathing. A part of him wondered if he was having this much trouble how his uncle was coping.

He felt even less grateful when he was dropped. The shock that reverberated through him as he hit the ground caused a cry to rise up his throat and for a few moments it was all he could do to keep from sobbing. But eventually the pain faded back to the ache that it had been before the eagles snatched him up. As the pounding in his own ears faded, he became aware of anxious voiced around him and sat up, prepared to reassure the others that he was fine, only to find that they weren't looking at him.

The company was there, grouped up mostly by family attempting to tend the wounds that had come from their battle with the orcs. Bofur was sitting against a rock looking more than a little green, but still alert and conscious and trying to reassure Bifur that he was fine while his cousin dabbed anxiously at a cut on his forehead that was bleeding rather profusely.  Nori and Ori were clustered around Dori who, despite the bleeding gash in his side that Óin was tending, was attempting to examine an uninjured Ori for wounds. Balin was sitting alone, attempting to wrap a wound on own his forearm with only one hand. For a moment, Kíli wondered where Dwalin was before he realized that there were more members of the company still unaccounted for.

Bilbo, Bombur, Glóin, Fíli and his uncle were also missing. Knowing that Balin might have some idea what happened to them, Kíli forced himself to his feet and walked towards the older dwarf. Balin looked up as he approached before offering him a small smile and holding up his arm.

"Think you can help me?" he asked. "I can't seem to get it tight enough to stop the bleeding on my own." Kíli nodded, kneeling down beside Balin. He could question him and tie a knot at the same time. Or so he'd thought. He had no problem tightening the wrap, but he found that when he tried to tie the cloth, his fingers were shaking too badly to do it easily. Once he finished, he looked up at his cousin.

"Tell me, Balin," Kíli breathed, hating the panic he could hear in his own voice, "have you seen Fíli? Or my uncle?"

"I haven't seen your brother, or mine for that matter," Balin answered slowly. "However, your uncle is right over there." Kíli turned in the direction that Balin had indicated and saw that Thorin was propped up on the rocks, clearly sleeping. Or at least Kíli _hoped_ he was sleeping.

"Is . . . is he . . . "

"Thorin's fine, lad," Balin promised. "Or at least as fine as he was _before_ the orcs caught us. We got here a bit before you did. Óin's already looked him over. We had to reset his shoulders. Foolish birds dislocated them again but other than that, he's no worse than he was."

"Speaking of the birds," Kíli said softly. "Why do you think they saved us?"

"Who says we've been saved, laddie?" Balin said sadly. "There are still five of us unaccounted for." Kíli blinked owlishly at the older dwarf. It had never occurred to him that they might have been plucked from the smoke for the birds to eat them. And, in all honesty, he couldn't see it. It made no sense for him that the birds would have taken the risk of flying into a battle only to selectively grab dwarves when there were orcs and wargs as well if all they wanted was a meal.

"No," Kíli said, a small smile on his face. The more he thought about it the more he was sure they were saved, not picked for a meal. "We were saved, Balin. As were the others. They'll be along shortly. You'll see."

"Go see to your uncle, laddie," Balin said simply, ignoring Kíli's last statement as he hated to crush the young dwarf's hopes but was unable to see his optimistic view of it. Not with how things had been going for them lately. Kíli might as well spend the last of his time with his kin.

Kíli nodded and used the rock wall to aid him to his feet. He had seen the sad look in Balin's eyes and knew what his cousin was thinking, but it wasn't worth it to him to argue about this. He knew that he was right. They were safe, not food. In time Balin would see but until then nothing could convince him. As he settled down beside his uncle, he found himself wishing there were something he could do to help ease his pain. Even in sleep Thorin's face had not relaxed and small moans escaped him on every exhale. It hurt Kíli to know that his uncle found no relief even in sleep and that the pain he felt had been for Kíli's sake alone.

Not knowing what else to do, Kíli gently raised his uncle from the wall and slid in behind him, hoping that his body would provide a softer bed than hard stone. His uncle's weight in addition to his own pressing his back into the stone was rather painful, but he was willing to endure it if it gave his uncle any kind of respite. It was all he could offer, at any rate, and it truly wasn't enough. A bit of his own pain in exchange for a bit of comfort for his uncle when his uncle had been willing to give his life to spare Kíli pain. Truly, it was the least he could do.

 Without thinking about it, his fingers came up to gently untangle his uncle's hair and he began to hum. It was an old song that his mother liked to hum when she did simple things like this and Kíli had always found it comforting. Once he'd asked about it and she'd said that it was a song her mother had sang—though she admitted that she had no memory of her mother singing it—before she died and that Thorin had continued to sing when they were children. Kíli wasn't sure if that last bit was true, but he hoped that it was and that the familiar melody would help his uncle rest easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are all, a new update just in time for Christmas. I hope that ya'll enjoyed it. It's a bit shorter than normal, but if it didn't go up today it would be another week before it could. I'm going out of town this week and my internet access with be spotty at best. I hope any of you that travel this week have safe, uneventful journeys. 
> 
> On a side note, for those of you that are just masochistic enough to want your feels decimated, I've posted an alternate ending to the last chapter that looks into what could have happened had the eagles been a few seconds later. (No, I did not do it _just_ because I wanted to destroy your feels, it actually was requested. If you want to read it, you can find it by clicking over to part 3 of the Trust and Betrayal series or go to this link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1095578
> 
> All I can say is don't blame me if you do :/


	35. True Understanding and Dark Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, some masochistic someone over on ff.net requested to see more of Thorin so, here it is. As always, just bear in mind that his head is not a nice place to be. Now to go write a fluffy one-shot about cute dwarflings and happy uncles to clear my own mind. Enjoy :/

Little did Kíli know that nothing he could do would comfort his uncle. It was not pain of a physical nature that was causing Thorin to grimace, but rather a prison of his minds own making. Ever since the smoke had rolled in and veiled his nephews from his sight on the cliff, he had felt himself teetering on the edge of memories. Losing sight of his loved ones with the Defiler so near . . . it awoke painful memories for him; memories of the battle that had claimed his grandfather and brother.

Though it hadn't been smoke, the air there had been thick as well and visibility had been impaired. There it was dust that had choked the air. Until it had become so saturated with blood that it could not rise, that is. Then, as now, the air had been filled with battle cries and screams of pain and clashing of weapons. There, as now, fear was a tangible thing for Thorin, choking his breath and squeezing his heart. Then it had been from inexperience, now . . . now it was from the knowledge of just what the fiends they were facing were capable of and his inability to do anything to stop it.

He let out a bitter laugh as he watched Bilbo pace before him, his letter opener glowing blue and casting a ghostly light against the orange glow of the smoke. It was almost comical to think that the _hobbit_ —of all things—was attempting to protect him from what was coming. Thorin had seen Azog rend _dwarves_ with his bare hands a hobbit would stand no chance. The orc would break his spine before stepping over him and he would use Bilbo's sword as a guiding light. At that last thought, Thorin had a startling moment of clarity in the midst of his dark thoughts.

"Hobbit, sheathe your sword," he ordered, his voice radiating with such command that Bilbo had half-followed the order before looking at him in confusion.

"If . . . if I do that, how will I protect myself?" the hobbit asked.

"By not leading them to us," Thorin snarled. "That blue glow is like a beacon. Put it out."

"Quite right," Bilbo said, blanching even further at the idea and quickly sliding his sword into the sheath at his waist.

"Now sit quietly," Thorin ordered, his blue eyes scanning the smoke in vain. "Hiding is what you hobbits are good at, isn't it?" Bilbo said nothing, feeling insulted by the implication that was clear in the dwarf's words. It was only seconds later that a figure was visible as a shadow in the orange light surrounding them: a figure with only one arm. Even though he knew that it was not the noble thing to do, Thorin froze, barely daring to breath as he hoped that the Defiler would keep walking. He knew that there was no way that he would last two seconds against his old foe, not in his current condition.

His plan was thwarted as he felt something wrap around his arms and lift him from the ground. Despite his best efforts, he could not stop the cry that rose up his throat as his shoulders took the full brunt of his weight, the abused joints giving under the strain and leaving him dangling by mere sinew. He thought that he heard his name but he wasn't sure. The last thing that he saw before merciful darkness claimed him was hatred and anger in the blue eyes of the white orc as he was flown over his head. Then there was nothing.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Fíli was still sitting on the edge of the eyrie. He wasn't sure just how much time had passed since they had been dropped, but he knew that he'd been sitting there long enough that the chill from the rocks had settled into his bones. Still, he couldn't bring himself to move. The cool night air in his face was proof that he was alive. Until he knew what happened to his brother, however, he refused to seek comfort.

If Kíli was dead . . . he couldn't even finish the thought in his own mind. No, he hadn't even truly been responsible for Kíli's death, if it had occurred at all, and he knew that the loss of his brother would devastate him. And his mother . . . what would he tell her? How could he ever face her again after he broke his promise? He knew that she would not hold it against him, not truly. She loved him and would be glad that she still had one of them but still . . . how could he embrace her knowing that it was partially his fault that Kíli died? If only he had fought the eagle until he knew that his brother was safe . . . with a sob, things clicked into place for him. For the first time, he thought that he might understand why his uncle had said that his resemblance to Frerin was his reason for distance.

If his uncle believe that he was responsible for his brother's death . . . it made sense. While he still couldn't understand exactly what his uncle had felt that day, he thought he understood more of it than he had. He wondered how many times Thorin had sat alone running the "what if's" over in his head, just as he had that night. What if I'd been faster? What if we hadn't separated? What if I hadn't given up hope and argued against the plan? What if the eagles had been just a bit quicker? Would they still be alive?

He wondered if Thorin had actually seen Frerin fall or only found the body later. Or had he never found the body? Had he spent the last 142 years wondering if his brother was dead, as Fíli was now, and torturing himself over what atrocities his brother might be enduring just because he hadn't been quick enough? He knew that now he would never know the answer, not that he would have asked in the first place. He would never willingly reopen that wound; the wound that would never heal. He understood now why at times his uncle had been so distant, so cold, so sad. So many things about his uncle and his childhood now made sense and he couldn't help the wave of self-loathing and regret that welled up within him for his part in keeping Frerin in his uncle's mind, even if he could never have controlled it.

He hated himself for the part that he had played in torturing his uncle and understood why Thorin never loved him like Kíli. For all his petulance and brattyness, Kíli would have been easy to love. He did have his sweet moments, after all. And he didn't look like the brother Thorin had failed. Now that he had possibly lost his own brother, it all became clear to Fíli in a way it never could have before.

Fíli laughed mirthlessly at the thought. To think that the very thing that made it impossible for him to tell his uncle that he understood, the very thing that made forgiveness possible, was the same thing that had taken away the chance. It made Fíli think that the other thing his mother always said late at night or when she believed she was alone—the one Kíli always conveniently forgot—may be true; perhaps the line of Durin was cursed to an existence with no manner of luck at all.

**ooOO88OOoo**

When Thorin opened his eyes, the first thing he wanted to do was curse that giant bird to the void. Why had it dropped him _here_ of all places. As he looked around, he recognized the area as the one place in Middle Earth he had never wanted to see again: the East Gate of Khazad-dûm. It was strange to him that it looked just as he remembered it. In 142 years nothing had changed. The bodies were missing but nothing else had changed. He only stopped looking around when he heard his name in a voice that made his blood run cold.

With a breath that was almost a sob, Thorin turned to see Azog standing behind him, with what was clearly Thrór's head clasped in his left fist. _But that isn't right_ , Thorin thought desperately. _I cut off that arm. He shouldn't be—_ he quit thinking as he watched again in horror as Azog tossed his grandfather's head at his feet, that same, malicious, taunting grin on his face.

Only, when it landed, it wasn't Thrór's shocked blue eyes that stared up at him through his grandfather's grey hair. No. Sometime in the air, the grey had turned to gold and the blue to brown. It wasn't his grandfather's head that Azog had thrown; it was Frerin's. All thoughts of the white orc faded from his mind as he stared into the condemning eyes of his baby brother.

"No!" he sobbed feeling no shame at the tears that fell from his eyes. Even knowing that it was too late, he dropped to his knees beside the severed head and stroked back his brother's golden hair attempting to offer whatever comfort he could. He jumped when he heard his brother's voice, sharp and biting from the head.

"Why do you weep?" Frerin demanded. "It's your fault I'm dead."

"No," Thorin denied shaking his head in horror and backing away from his brother's head. "I didn't—"

"You did," Frerin replied. "My death is your fault as surely as if you had beheaded me yourself. You promised to protect me, Thorin. Where were you when I needed you most?"

"I . . . I" Thorin floundered searching for the answer to that question. He didn't have one. Frerin was right. He should have been there. He should have given his life if that was what it took to keep his brother safe. Fíli would have. Just as Fíli may have.

"Where were you, Thorin?" Frerin demanded again.

"The same place he was when _we_ needed him," as second voice said. "Nowhere." A sob left his throat before he even turned around. He knew that voice. Even so, it broke his heart again to turn from Frerin's accusing eyes only to see Fíli glaring death at him with hate-filled blue eyes. But what was worse that the hatred was the sight of what Fíli was holding. In his arms was something Thorin had prayed never to see: Kíli's lifeless body.

Though Fíli still held him gently, it was clear that he was gone. There was no color in his face save for the bright red trail of blood from his lips. What was almost worse, though, was his innocent brown eyes, far too dark in his bloodless face, that were wide open in shock but shallow in death.

"You did this too," Fíli said, his voice a venomous whisper. "You are the reason Kíli is dead." He paused to shift his brother slightly to free a hand, showing Thorin the crimson-stained palm. "You're the reason his blood is on my hands. Just like always, you were too _weak_ to do what needed to be done."

"It . . . it wasn't weakness," Thorin countered desperately. "You have to listen to me, Fíli. It wasn't weakness, it was love. I couldn't bear to kill either of you. You have to understand."

In response Fíli snorted before replying in the most sarcastic tone Thorin had ever heard from him. "So," he drawled, "it was _love_ that made you force me to break my promise to Mother and kill my own baby brother, like you killed yours? _Love_ made you leave me to kill myself, condemning me to an eternity of wandering, never being able to seek forgivness for what I did? No, Thorin. That wasn't love. It was cowardice."

"It wasn't!" Thorin exclaimed reaching for them only to have them glide out of reach. "You have to understand! I could never forgive myself—"

"That's something we have in common then," Fíli spat. "because I can _never_ forgive you for what you've done. Never."

"Nor I," Frerin added. "And when our sister learns what you ordered her sons to do . . . I hope you can live with yourself, Brother, because that's all you'll have left in this world. Our people won't follow a coward, after all."

With that, the landscaped faded around him and Thorin was left alone in darkness with only his brother's final words—some of the last words he had spoken to Frerin—ringing in his ears.  For the first time, Thorin's greatest fear had come true. He was alone, unloved and with no one to help him fight the darkness within his own mind. And it was no less than he deserved.

As he curled in on himself, he thought that it was almost a fitting end. After all, everyone he loved had died alone and he had ensured that it happened. He was the one who had abandoned Frerin over a squabble, who had refused to accompany his father in his quest to reclaim Erebor because the signs were not there, who had caused his nephews to die leaving Dís to die alone without her children and grandchildren by her bedside to comfort her. Why should he be any different?

**ooOO88OOoo**

"Balin?" Kíli called, panic clear in his voice. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened, as he had drifted off but he had awakened to his uncle muttering in his sleep and writhing as if trying to be free of something. But what worried him the most was the heat he felt rising off his uncle's skin when he had tried to brush his hair back from his face to soothe him.

"What is it, laddie?" Balin muttered sleepily as he rose to his feet and came to the young dwarf's side. His heart nearly broke at the panic and desperation he saw when Kíli looked at him.

"It's Uncle," Kíli said. "He . . . he's too warm." With a sigh Balin knelt beside them and placed his unbound wrist against Thorin's pale face. He closed his eyes sadly at the heat radiating from the other dwarf. The fever combined with the lack of a sweat or flush . . . it didn't bode well.

"Balin?" Kíli breathed, his voice a tremulous whisper. "He'll be fine, won't he?"

"It's in the hands of the Maker now, lad," Balin replied, threading his fingers into the hair and Kíli's temples and resting his forehead against the lad's in consolation. "There's nothing more we can do. We pushed him too hard and . . . I won't say there's _no_ chance but, Kíli, it's not a good one. There's just too much damage, lad. Too much trauma. Even if we _hadn't_ had to run . . . this was always a risk. We're going to lose him. I am so sorry."

For a moment, Kíli said nothing. When he did speak, his voice was filled with the same tears that refused to fall from his eyes. "You're wrong," he said. "He's not going to die." Just as before, Balin said nothing to crush Kíli's hopes, though he knew that it was almost cruel to allow the boy to hope.

"We'll see, lad," Balin said placing a gentle hand on the top of Kíli's head before moving back towards Óin and the others. Thorin deserved to die surrounded by those that loved him and at the moment Kíli was the only one there with true claim to that title. Balin shook his head sadly as he realized that it wasn't the only title Kíli had claim to. With Thorin dead and Fíli missing and presumed dead, Kíli was king.

If the mood had been lighter, he would have laughed at the irony of it. Kíli. Wild, _foolish_ little Kíli king. He never thought he'd live to see the day. He only hoped that the lad was up to it. He'd seen what the crown and guilt had done to Thorin, he hated to see Kíli succumb to the same fate. Part of him knew that it was unavoidable. This was Durin's Bane. Not some monster in a mine. Rather the curse of the line was to be unable to be happy. He had seen the curse take Thorin, Fíli, Dís. Kíli would not escape. Just like the others, he would be crushed by the cruel whims of fate. Kíli would fall just like the rest, and they would be the ones to push him until he did. Just as they always had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi :) Anybody make it to the bottom with their feels intact? Just remember, one of you asked for it. There was a reason we hadn't seen much of Thorin for a bit. His mind . . . he's almost enough to ruin my day just getting into his headspace to write. For all Fíli's issues, his mind has nothing on the darkness that is Thorin. I hope you enjoyed it :)


	36. Musings and Revalations

Bilbo shivered in the cool night air, surreptitiously moving closer to Dwalin in hopes that the large dwarf would block the wind if nothing else. Dwalin looked up at the sound of him sliding across the stone, but did nothing to deter him. On the contrary, the warrior scooted closer to the hobbit with a small smile. It was then that Bilbo noticed that _all_ the dwarves that he was with where huddled together with their backs to the wind. All except Fíli.

Bilbo's heart broke for the young dwarf. Even after everything they'd been through in the past few days, there had still been a spark of life in his eyes. Now it was gone. As frightening as the random mood swings had been, this was worse. Fíli hadn't said a word to any of them since he told Bilbo to be quiet. In fact, he hadn't moved at all. It was like the Fíli that sat on the cliff wasn't _Fíli_ but rather a shell of him. It wasn't right.

"Sh—" Bilbo stopped when his teeth chattered together before trying again. "It's c-cold," he said. "Sh-shouldn't one of us try to get him to come over here. It has to be warmer than the edge." Dwalin shook his head sadly, more sadness in his dark eyes than Bilbo would have once thought him capable of.

"Leave him be, laddie," Dwalin said sadly. "Let him mourn Thorin in his own way. Give him the time he needs. I . . . I've already seen what being forced to move on too soon does to a dwarf. Let . . . let him mourn."

"There's nothing _to_ mourn!" Bilbo snapped, his frustration with the situation making his tone harsh. Why would these dwarves never listen?!

"That's cruel, hobbit," Dwalin said, his voice breathless with his shock over the callousness the creature was able to show. "Thorin may have done wrong by that lad, but Fíli still has the right to mourn his passing. Whatever he did, Thorin was still his kin."

"I know that!" Bilbo scoffed. "And Fíli loves him, even if they're in a spat at the moment. That's not what I meant." Dwalin and Glóin snorted that Bilbo thought this was nothing more than a spat, but they forgave him. After all he had no way of knowing the truth.

"Then what do you mean, Burglar?" Glóin asked, wanting to know before Bilbo talked himself into a hole he couldn't dig out of.

"Thorin's not dead," Bilbo said as if they were missing the obvious. "Or at least he wasn't when the eagles picked us up."

"But Fíli said—"

"I know what Fíli said," Bilbo said exasperatedly. "But Fíli wasn't there, not at the end. He and Kíli had been separated from us after . . ." Bilbo trailed off, unsure if he could or _should_ tell them what he overheard between Thorin and Fíli.

"Well, that doesn't matter," he continued finally concluding that he should just keep his mouth shut. "All that matters is that they were separated by the smoke. And, trust me, Thorin was issuing commands up until the eagle picked him up. He was very much alive then."

"So there's a chance he's not dead?" Dwalin asked. Even if he was angry with Thorin for what he had done, some of his anger had faded a bit as he realized that at least some of it was misdirected. He wasn't _only_ angry at Thorin, not really. He wasn't kidding when he had told Bilbo that the inability to mourn could be a terrible thing. He'd seen what it had done to Thorin. After the battle . . . . Thorin had not had the time he needed.

Even though it had been another almost forty years until he'd officially become their king, he'd been ruling long before that. At the loss of his father and son Thrain had . . . he'd lost himself to grief and become obsessed with Erebor. While Thrain planned excursions, despite the advice of others, it had fallen to Thorin to see to the day-to-day needs of a homeless people. Though he'd cut his beard, Thorin gave no other sign that he was mourning.

When Thrain retreated into himself after the battle, Thorin remained strong for the others and poured himself into endless planning. Dwalin still remembered when he had asked Thorin about it and attempted to express worry over his cousin's health.

**ooOO88OOoo**

_"Thorin," he'd said as he sat in his cousin's tent one night while Thorin poured over maps and ledgers. "You need to stop. Take a moment for yourself. How long has it been since you slept?" His cousin blinked owlishly at him, his usually bright eyes clouded with fatigue and dark circles so deep under them that Dwalin was impressed Thorin was conscious at all._

_"I . . .I think I slept yesterday," Thorin replied, hesitantly. "Dís was here."_

_"Thorin, that was two days ago," Dwalin said, standing and taking his cousin by the upper arms. "Come, to bed with you."_

_"No," Thorin replied shrugging out from under Dwalin's hands and focusing once more on his papers. "I . . . I **need** to finish this."_

_"It can wait until tomorrow," Dwalin said. "What you **need** to do is sleep."_

_"N-no," Thorin said, his eyes wild as he clutched at Dwalin's shirt with fingers that trembled. "I-it can-can't wait. You don't . . . you don't understand. I **have** to do this. If . . . if father and grandfather had focused on this instead of . . .then maybe . . ."_

_"Thorin, don't go there," Dwalin cautioned. "Nothing good will come of it. What happened happened. There's nothing you can do about it."_

_"But, Dwalin, don't you see?!" Thorin asked, his voice frantic. "If we had a home, none of this would have happened. I **have** to find us one. This can never happen again. I can't . . . I won't . . ." Thorin looked as if he was on the verge of tears before he forced them down and cleared his throat. _

_"Now, leave me," he said. "I will finish this."_

_"Thorin—"_

_"I said leave," Thorin snarled._

**ooOO88OOoo**

Dwalin had left, only to come back with Dís, who was able to force her brother to get some rest. He hadn't stayed in the tent after Dís came, but cloth does little to block sounds. Even from his own tent he had heard the terrors that assaulted Thorin that night. Heard his friend scream and beg in his sleep until the lamp was lit and Thorin once more threw himself into work less than an hour after he laid down to rest.

Dwalin wasn't sure how long that pattern had continued, but he knew that seeing Thorin in a well rested state became a rare sight indeed. Everyone knew but no one ever spoke of it. It wasn't their place. Even when the slips started, no one said anything. If you were talking to Thorin and his face suddenly went blank and his eyes stared at nothing . . .  well, you went to find Dís. No one else could reach him and if anyone but her touched him . . . Dwalin idly rubbed at the scar on his forearm that he had gained in just such an attempt. But Dís . . . she could always reach him. She always seemed to know just what to do to make him normal again. And once she did, they never spoke of what had happened.

Eventually those too had faded. And if Thorin was grimmer than he'd been before or there was a sadness in his eyes that never seemed to leave, well, he had every right. After all, fate had been cruel to him.

Everything seemed as if it were back to normal. True, Thorin had lost his lighthearted nature, but he was fine. He had seemed fine. And then Fíli was born. Fíli with his bright blue eyes and blonde hair. He had seen the pain in Thorin's eyes intensify as the boy grew. He'd watched as the slips became more frequent than they'd been in years. But still he'd said nothing. He knew that Thorin wouldn't appreciate having his weaknesses noticed by another. Out of respect for his friend and king he'd held his tongue. Until one day when Fíli was in his early twenties.

The lad had only just begun training and was doing remarkably well. He was still experimenting with weapons to try to find what fit him best. That day had been axes and bows. They were put together because the second was such an uncommon weapon. But, uncommon or not, Fíli had been good with them. Unlike most dwarflings, he had managed to not only hit the target about half the time, but he also avoided hitting his arm with the string. That was something Dwalin still had difficulty with.

Fíli had been so excited. For one of the first times that Dwlain could remember, there was _pride_ in his eyes as he had looked at what he had done. Fíli always had been such a self-conscious thing . . . he supposed now that it came from Thorin's treatment but at the time he'd just figured the lad was a bit neurotic. It happened occasionally.

_"Did you see, Uncle?" Fíli chirped, practically bouncing in place. "Did you see? I hit the target!" Thorin had surveyed the target with the same searching gaze he used to inspect a newly forged blade and Dwalin had known before he spoke that what would follow would not be kind._

_"Barely," Thorin replied, pulling one of the arrows from the target where it barely clung to the edge. "There is also no pattern to your shots. They are all over the board." He gestured at the wild spackle of arrows to prove his point. "Without a cluster there is no way to improve your aim."Fíli seemed to deflate a bit more with every word out of his uncle's mouth, until by the end his throat was working convulsively and it was clear to Dwalin that the lad was trying not to cry._

_"It's not bad for a first try, Thorin," Dwalin said, placing a hand on Fíli's shoulder. "The lad **did** hit the target. That's better than most." Thorin hummed in response, looking unimpressed._

_"It's alright," Fíli whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I didn't like the bow anyway," he continued, handing it to Dwalin. "I think I'd like to try swords tomorrow, can we?"_

_"Of course, laddie," Dwalin said. "and we can always come back and give the bow a bit more practice. If you'd like."_

_"No," Fíli had said, shaking his head. "Uncle's right. I'll never be good enough at it. May I go?" Dwalin nodded and watched as Fíli walked towards the changing room on the grounds._

_"What was that?!" Dwalin snapped rounding on Thorin the moment Fíli was out of earshot._

_"I beg your pardon?" Thorin asked coldly._

_"What was that?" Dwalin repeated. "He did **amazingly** for a first time."_

_"This is not amazing, Dwalin," Thorin corrected. "Were this an enemy, he'd have been slain. Yes, he hit the target, but none of these would have been a kill."_

_"It was his first time with a bow," Dwalin countered. "And it's not as if I'd put him up against an enemy **now**. He's still a child. In fact, that argument could be made for any weapon he or any of the others lift and you know it." He paused to look around at the dwarflings that were training, and some of the older untried warriors besides. "Every single one of them out there . . . If you or I were to come at them with **intent** " he paused to scoff. "Most of them would wet themselves and then, if we wished it, they would die. That's the point of training: he gets better."_

_"I know that," Thorin snarled. "And let's say that he specializes in archery. What happens when he's in a battle and his arrows are spent, the enemy is all around him. What will he do then, Dwalin?"_

_"Go to his secondary weapon," Dwalin said, knowing that Thorin knew the answer and wondering why they were going over this._

_"His **secondary** weapon," Thorin repeated his words going more frantic as he continued. "One that he hasn't trained with nearly as much. In that situation, he won't have the skill to defend himself against multiple attackers. We both know that secondary weapons are never as good as primary. He'll die, Dwalin." Dwalin closed his eyes as he realized that this wasn't about Fíli. Not truly. When he opened them again, he could see the fear behind Thorin's icy stare. The fear of the past._

_"That's not why Frerin died, Thorin," Dwalin whispered reaching for his cousin's shoulder._

_"You can't know that!" Thorin snapped batting his hand away._

_"No," he agreed." But I do know this; Fíli is not Frerin."_

_"I know that!" the king snarled, his expression turning nearly feral._

_"Do you?" Dwalin asked, undeterred by Thorin's rage. He'd seen it before. Thorin's mouth worked for a moment before he slammed the arrow back into the target and turned away. When he next spoke, his voice was sad, defeated and distant._

_"Bring the lad home, will you?" he asked. "I . . . there is . . . something . . ."_

_"I'll see him home," Dwalin promised feeling worry for Thorin creep into his mind. He did not like that tone at all. "Do you want me to—"_

_"Just see to Fíli," Thorin said. "And tomorrow, let him try double swords. He's good with both of his hands."_

**ooOO88OOoo**

Dwalin had done what he'd been told.  That night, he'd taken Fíli home and stayed there at Dís' invitation, telling her how well her son had done at training that day. When Thorin never came home, Dís asked him to stay with the lads while she went to look for her brother. Dwalin agreed. They were sleeping, it wasn't as if they could cause _too much_ mischief. He wished he hadn't. When Dís brought her brother home . . . the blank sadness on Thorin's face about ripped his heart out. He didn't even seem to know where he was as Dís guided him to his room. When she came back, she ushered him out the door with a sad smile, her thanks for watching the lads and a promise that Thorin would be fine before shutting the door.

She'd been right, the next time he saw his cousin Thorin was fine. He looked drained and seemed to have less energy than normal, but he was fine. Even so, Dwalin never brought up Fíli and Frerin in the same sentence again. He didn't want to be responsible for causing Thorin any more pain. Instead, he shifted his attention to attempting to offer Fíli the praise that Thorin clearly didn't give. But no matter what he said, the boy didn't seem to believe him.  

And then Kíli had come along and he'd been expecting more of the same but that wasn't what he saw. Kíli had confidence and brazenness that Fíli lacked and Thorin was more than happy to dote praise on the younger of the two even for lesser achievements. Kíli had been allowed freedoms that Fíli wasn't but at the same time, Fíli had seemed better served. He had a drive that Kíli couldn't compare to. An urge to better himself even when he was already doing his best and was miles ahead of the others. He'd thought that maybe Thorin knew what he was doing after all.

Dwalin sighed as he looked at Fíli now, the lost, broken thing he'd become. If he'd only had known where that drive actually came from . . . he wasn't sure what he would have done but it damn well would have been something more than nothing. But he knew that there was no way he could go back and change it now. All he could do was insure that Fíli was given the time he needed even if Thorin _was_ dead.  That and honesty. He'd seen the damage remaining silent could do. Promise to Kíli or no, he _would_ tell Fíli the truth. The lad deserved no less.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Fíli was still sitting on the ledge when he heard a familiar voice call out and turned to see Nori standing there leaning against the ledge with a smile.

"So those flighty birds _did_ drop the rest of you together too," he said tiredly. "Gandalf said they had, but that wizard's more than a bit batty in his own right so I wasn't sure."

"Too?" Bilbo asked. "You mean the rest of the company's with you?"

"Aye," Nori agreed. "and worried you lot had been eaten."

"We thought _you'd_ been eaten," Glóin retorted.

"Well, nobody's been eaten and everyone was alive when I left," Nori replied. "Now can we go back? I'd kill for a bit of shut-eye."

"So, Balin—"

"He's fine," Nori said, sitting down as he realized that they weren't going to move until he answered their questions. "Got a cut on his arm but he's fine. Óin's fine too," he said before the red-headed dwarf could ask. "As are Bifur and Bofur. Now can we go?"

"And Kíli?" Fíli asked, his voice rough from the smoke and disuse.

"Kíli's fine," Nori replied. "He's sitting with Thorin. Or was when I left." Nori wondered at the little bit of color that was in Fíli's face fading and stepped forward to attempt to catch the lad should he decide to pass out. He was dangerously close to the edge.

"So . . . the eagles picked up his body?" Fíli asked, closing his eyes against the mental image of the damage his uncle may have done to himself to end his life. Had he slit his own throat or run himself through? Would they have covered the wounds with cloth as they did his father's or would they be left open so that Thorin's disgrace in killing himself would be known? If they had the body . . .  all his attempts to hide the truth had been for naught. They would know by who's hand those wounds had been inflicted. All they'd need to do was look.

"What body?" Nori asked, not understanding Fíli sudden sadness and the dread in his eyes. "Thorin's alive, lad."

"He's . . .  he's alive?" Fíli breathed, the hint of disbelieving laughter in his tone. "But—" He turned to look at Bilbo who shrugged.

"I tried to tell you," the hobbit said. "But you didn't want to hear it. Thorin didn't die. The eagles grabbed him."

"But . . . I _heard_ him cry out and the way it stopped . . ." Fíli trailed off, unable to finish his dark thought.

"The eagles had to have lifted him by the arms, laddie," Dwalin said placing a gentle hand on the heir's shoulder. "That can't have been painless. I'd be impressed if his shoulders held him. That's why it cut out. He most likely lost consciousness. Be glad of it."

"They didn't," Nori said. "We had to put them back in. He wasn't awake for it." he added when he saw the horror in Fíli's eyes. "He was still unconscious. He didn't feel it." Fíli nodded and closed his eyes once more before opening them, a determination in them that none of them had seen since the caves.

"Take me to them," he ordered. "I'd like to see for myself that they are fine." Nori said nothing, but that was an order he was more than happy to follow since it meant that he'd be getting some sleep sometime soon.

Fíli followed the other dwarf, his heart both lighter and more filled with dread than it had been moments before. Everyone was alive. Thorin, _Kíli_ . . . they were both alive. They hadn't died. There was still time to make things right. But at the same time was the fear of what would happen when Kíli asked about what happened on the other cliff. He couldn't lie to his brother, not about that. But he knew—he _knew_ —that Kíli would never understand. Kíli, who'd never had to make that kind of decision before. No, when Kíli asked and he told him what he and Thorin had agreed to . . . Kíli _would_  hate him. And it would be no less than he deserved for being willing to kill his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So . . . that first bit was only supposed to be a lead in but . . . well, Dwalin apparently wanted a say so *shrugs* he got it. Next time we'll be back with a reunited company and see more of what's going on with Kili and Thorin. I swear, this time it wasn't just to be sadistic :)


	37. Delusions and Harsh Realities

Kíli sat beside his uncle feeling absolutely useless. He'd done everything that Óin had told him to do but it hadn't helped. His uncle was bundled up under everything that could be spared in an attempt to keep him from catching a chill and Kíli was bathing his forehead with a damp rag to attempt to break his fever but nothing was working. With a growl of frustration Kíli threw the rag back in the bowl and fisted his hands in his hair. The pain in his scalp from his own pulling helped him to bite back the sob that was threatening to rise.

"Why isn't it working?" he ground out, not expecting an answer.

"Give it time, laddie," Balin replied from just a little ways away. "Fevers are nasty business. They take _time_ to treat."

"He doesn't have time," Kíli snarled his own optimism shaken at seeing his uncle muttering in his sleep and in such a weakened state. "Isn't there anything else we can do?" The desperation in the young heir's voice moved Balin. Kíli was far too young for what was about to happen but there was nothing that Balin, or anyone else could do about it. It was a cruel turn of events, but that was life. Bailn couldn't, and shouldn't, shelter Kíli from the truth. After all, he couldn't cling to Dís' skirts forever, or Thorin's coattails for that matter. Besides, this was a lesson that Kíli was going to have to learn, and sooner would be better than later. For all of them. His youthful optimism would only serve to get them all killed if it couldn't be tempered with reality.

"There is," Balin said with a small, sad smile. Kíli perked up at that and Balin nearly felt bad for what he was about to say but he said it all the same. "We wait. And we pray that his end comes swiftly, for his sake." Kíli scoffed and looked ready to fire back but a moan from Thorin drew his attention.

"Uncle?" Kíli whispered taking one of Thorin's hands in his own. Thorin's eyes fluttered open at the touch and Balin had to close his own. He gave a small humorless laugh of disbelief at what he had seen. His cousin's eyes, usually so sharp and clear, were clouded with pain and bright with fever to the point that he _knew_ that there was no way he would survive the night. No matter what any of them did, Thorin was going to die. His heart broke anew when he heard Kíli's happy exclamation at the same sight that had upset him so. The lad thought it was a good sign. With another sigh, Balin stood and walked away. He had no desire to bear witness to the moment when Kíli's joy would turn to anguish. Even if he was awake, there was no way Thorin would be lucid.

Kíli didn't notice the older dwarf leaving. It didn't matter to him that his uncle's eyes were unfocused, or far too bright. They were open and that's what was important.

"Uncle?" he tried again, placing his left hand on the unmarked side of his uncle's face and stroking gently with his thumb. He was shocked when his uncle hummed in his throat and leaned into the touch before pulling away abruptly with a cry.

"Uncle? Did I hurt you?" Kíli asked not understanding Thorin's reaction. The sadness in Thorin's unfocused eyes when he next opened them made Kíli feel as if someone had stabbed him.

"I don't deserve your comfort, Sister," Thorin whispered. Kíli looked at him in confusion. 'Sister?'

"It's Kíli," he managed to say, his confusion making his voice thick. Why had his uncle called him sister? He bore a shocking resemblance to his mother, but not so much that they were confusable.

"It's both of them, Dís," Thorin replied, tears filling his eyes as he tried and failed to reach for Kíli, allowing his wounded arms to fall back at his sides with a cry. "Dís . . . Dís, I'm so sorry. So, so sorry. I . . . they're dead, Dís. The lads. . . they're dead. And it's . . . it's all my fault."

"We're not dead," Kíli said incredulously. How could his uncle think he was dead? He was sitting right beside him! "We're fine. I'm right here, Uncle."

"No, Dís. They're dead," Thorin said, truly sobbing now. "I . . . Fíli did it. But it . . . it wasn't his fault. Don't blame him, please. He killed Kíli but only because I . . . I couldn't do it, Sister. I couldn't kill your sons. Not even to save them from torture. I was too weak. We . . . we were surrounded . . . and . . . oh, Dís! I . . . I convinced Fíli to kill his brother and take his own life. You'll never see Fíli again, not even in the afterlife. I . . . I'm so sorry. I should have found another way. I know he was your favorite. And I took him from you." The words grew more frantic, and Thorin's eyes more wild, as he spoke and it was clear that he was working himself into a frenzy.

"Hush," Kíli said, trying to think of what his mother would say as it became clear to him that his uncle was not lucid even if he was awake. Not only were they not dead, Fíli would _never_ have agreed to kill him no matter what. The fever had clearly addled his uncle's mind and brought his emotions to the surface. And with his body already weak . . . those emotions could easily kill him. Dwalin had said that too much excitement could stop his heart. Kíli knew that he had to calm his uncle and if pretending to be his mother was the only way to get his uncle to do it, well then he'd do his best to be her.

"You aren't responsible for this, Un-Thorin," he said attempting to sound like his mother when she thought they were being foolish, even though his uncle's given name feeling wrong on his tongue. "My sons are alive. They didn't die."

"Oh, Dís," Thorin breathed, closing his eyes and shaking his head sadly. "How I wish you were right."

"I am right," Kíli replied firmly. "They live. Trust me. If they didn't would I do this?" With that, Kíli picked up the cloth once more and gently ran it over Thorin's face and neck.

"No," Thorin replied petulantly. "If they were dead you'd leave me to die. Even so, you shouldn't care for me so. Even if they _are_ alive, which they're _not_ , Fíli . . . " He paused and drew a shuddering breath before his eyes locked on Kíli's once more. There was a startling clarity in them even as his delusion persisted. Kíli squirmed uncomfortably under such a serious gaze, even as he knew that his mother would never squirm.

"I broke him," Thorin said simply, though tears still slid down his cheeks and colored the words. "I broke your son. Everything you ever said to me, everything I always denied. It was _true_ , Dís. I _destroyed_ him. And you were right, you know. He doesn't look like Frerin. Nothing about him looks like Frerin except his hair. I see that now. He . . . he looks like a perfect blend of you and Víli. I only wish I'd seen it before."

There was a pause before Thorin continued, his tone sincere and more filled with pain that Kíli had ever heard before, "I never meant to hurt him, Sister. You have to believe me."

"I do," Kíli replied, his own throat feeling tight at just how _raw_ his uncle was being. There was no doubt in his mind that his uncle was telling the truth. He'd never meant to hurt Fíli. That didn't mean that he hadn't, but at least it hadn't been malicious.

"You're too good to me," Thorin muttered, his eyes drifting closed as his head began to lull once more, resting more heavily on Kíli's palm. "You should have done it, Dís. You should have taken the boys to the Iron Hills like you said. It would have been better. I . . . I couldn't have hurt them that way. Neither of them."

"Hush," Kíli said again, not wanting to hear any more. He'd never known that his mother had threatened to take them from their uncle and just the thought of it hurt. He couldn't imagine having grown up without Thorin there. Even the thought of it hurt. He didn't want his uncle to say another word. He couldn't stand the sorrow, regret or desperation that the words were spoken with.

"If you do see Fíli," Thoin said, his eyes opening halfway. "Tell him . . . tell him I'm sorry. For everything. And especially for never being able to make it up to him."

"You still have time," Kíli insisted, not wanting to promise, even in his mother's name, to relay messages that were best said in person.

"I don't," Thorin said, a small smile on his face. "I think . . . I think I'm dying, Dís. And they lied to us. All the tales that say pain fades. It doesn't, Sister. I feel like I'm on fire. My very bones burn. Perhaps death will be a relief."

"You're not dying!" Kíli said just barely resisting the urge to grab his uncle by the shoulders and shake him. "You can't die! I . . . I _need_ you to live, Uncle! _Fíli_ needs you!" Thorin blinked and then a smile split his face.

"Kíli," he breathed attempting to reach for his nephew and failing. "You did survive. I'm glad. Tell your mother . . . tell her I love her and that I'm sorry. For everything. She'll know what you mean."

"Tell her yourself," Kíli said, desperation making his voice shrill. "I . . ." His heart broke again when his uncle's face fell.

"So you're still mad at me,"  Thorin breathed. "I'm so sorry, Little One. Sorry this is how things have to end between us. I just hope that someday you can forgive me."  Before Kíli could reply, Thorin drifted off to sleep once more. Kíli watched his uncle's shallow breathing for a moment just to be sure that he _was_ still breathing before turning to look for Balin to see what he made of Thorin's lack of lucidity.

His white-haired cousin was nowhere to be seen, however as he looked for Balin a glint of gold in the moonlight caught his eye. Before he could more than get to his feet, there was a solid body crashing into his own and arms wrapping around him.

"Fíli," he breathed a smile on his face at his brother's exuberance, something he saw far too little of lately, despite the pain that raced up his back at the touch. He was shocked when he felt moisture on his neck and it took him a moment to realize that Fíli was crying.

Fíli knew that it was wrong for him to be crying but the sight of Kíli sitting there _alive_ . . . it had been more than he could take. Despite all that they'd been through, despite all his mistakes Kíli was _alive_! He was so happy to see his brother that all thoughts of propriety temporarily left his mind and all he could do was cling to Kíli, tears streaming down his face at the feeling of his baby brother, solid, warm and _alive_ in his arms. He couldn't believe his luck.

"Fee?" Kíli asked trying to pull away slightly to see his brother and giving up when Fíli refused to release his hold. "Are you alright?"

"You're alive," Fíli sobbed in reply, his mind refusing to process anything else for the moment. He hadn't even noticed the tears clinging to Kíli's eyelashes.

"Yes," Kíli said slowly, still trying to understand Fíli's response. He'd missed his brother too, but it almost seemed as if Fíli _needed_ to hold him as much as he needed air. The urgency made little sense to him. Yes, they'd been in a bad situation, but it hadn't been close. Not really. Nothing had touched them.

"You're alive," Fíli repeated, a breathless laugh following the pronouncement this time as he pulled back to look at him. There were still tears in his eyes as he reached up and brushed Kíli's hair from his face, his thumb lingering on the livid cut he had left on Kíli's cheek. Without warning, he once more pulled Kíli against him and buried his face in his brother's neck.

"I'm so sorry," Fíli muttered. "I've been an idiot. I can't believe how I've been behaving." He pulled back again, placing both hands on his brother's face, the right more gingerly than the left, and staring into Kíli's brown eyes.

"Forgive me?" the eldest heir breathed, the tension in his shoulders showing that he more than half-expected Kíli to deny his request.

"Course I do," Kíli replied with a half-smile, placing his own hands on Fíli's face. "There's nothing to forgive. Besides, I've been a bigger idiot than you. You were right to be mad at me."

"It doesn't matter," Fíli promised, his voice still breathless. "We're both idiots but that doesn't change one thing; I love you, Kíli. So much. I'm sorry that it took us almost dying for me to remember it."

"I love you too?" Kíli replied, still feeing confused at his brother's outpouring of emotion and beginning to be worried that Fíli might be injured. Or that the birds may have dropped him on his head. "Are you alright?" he repeated.

"I'm fine," Fíli promised, a peaceful smile on his face that the younger didn't trust at all. "I'm fine, Kee. I just . . . I finally understand. I understand _everything._ I . . . I need to talk to Uncle. Can we have a moment alone?" Kíli's face fell at the question and Fíli felt bad for asking, but he really didn't think that Kíli _could_ understand and didn't feel that Thorin deserved to be torn open with an audience. He now knew just how much this conversation would hurt his uncle, even if it needed to be said.

"It'll just be a minute, Kíli," Fíli swore.

"You can't," Kíli replied, feeling his throat close up as he realized that he was going to have to tell Fíli what Balin had told him and he had come to believe to be true. He flinched slightly when Fíli pulled away from him sharply, halfway expecting a blow to follow. He hated himself for fearing his own brother.

"I'm not going to yell at him. I just . . . he and I need to talk," Fíli explained, growing a bit agitated that Kíli would dare to try to keep him from talking to his own uncle. He knew that he'd been cruel, but Kíli'd said he was forgiven, it wasn't as if Kíli could pick and choose what he would forgive.

"It's not that," Kíli said looking levelly at his brother and taking Fíli's good hand in his own. "Even if you were . . . I wouldn't try to stop you, Brother. It's just . . . Fíli, Uncle's dying."

"What? No!" Fíli spat, feeling as if the world was tipping out from under him. Thorin couldn't be dying. Not now that he finally understood and could forgive him. He couldn't die. Not without knowing the truth.

"I'm sorry," Kíli whispered, resting his forehead against Fíli's and threading his fingers through his brother's hair. "Balin and Óin . . . they say there's nothing we can do."

"There . . . there has to be something," Fíli muttered, not truly believing it himself. He felt Kíli's head shake against his own.

"There's not," Kíli breathed. "I . . . I thought there was but . . . he's not lucid, Fee. He woke a bit ago. He thought I was Mother. Whatever talk you wanted to have . . . he won't understand you. I'm sorry."

"I still want to see him," Fíli said pulling away to look at his brother. "I still . . . I'd still like to be alone with him. Please?" Kíli nodded and squeezed his shoulder before walking off to sit beside Dwalin and Balin. Once he was gone, Fíli sank to his knees beside his uncle with his head in his hands


	38. More Delusions and Pleas for Time

Fíli wasn't sure just how long he sat there attempting to collect himself, but eventually he decided that if he was going to be there he might as well be useful. With a final sniff, he grabbed the bowl Kíli had been using earlier and pulled it toward him. It was a bit difficult to wring water out of the cloth with just his left hand but he managed it.

"I couldn't do this if it wasn't for you," he muttered as he ran the cloth over his uncle's forehead. "If you hadn't insisted that I learn to use both hands equally . . ." he faded out unable to continue for a moment and rung the cloth out in the bowl once more.

"I hated you for that, you know," he said eventually. "Or maybe I didn't. I don't think . . . I never hated you. Not even when I said I did. I was just . . . I just didn't understand. There are things I still don't. I understand why it wasn't easy for you to love me like you do Kíli but . . . why couldn't you just—" he cut himself off realizing that it wouldn't be fair of him to lay his own burdens on someone who was so close to death. Besides, it wasn't as if Thorin was going to answer him. It would do him no good to air that grievance. Not now.

"Just . . . please don't die," Fíli whispered. "I . . . I know it's selfish of me but . . . I'm not ready. I _need_ you to live. I . . . I can't be king. I can't rule. I . . . don't know what to do. I'll just make a mess of it, just like I have everything.  I know it's cruel and that it would probably be easier for you if you passed on. You've more than earned it but . . . _please_ fight. Don't . . . don't leave me to this. I can't do it. Please. I can't do this on my own."

"You can," Thorin muttered opening his eyes and looking for the face of the person sitting next to  him. He knew he knew the voice but for some reason he wasn't certain who it belonged to. When he caught sight of the golden hair in the moonlight he knew who it was. He couldn't make out the face, but he didn't need to. He knew only one blonde dwarf that didn't wear braids. The pleading in the voice he now knew to be his brothers made him think that the battle had gone ill for him. That would certainly explain the pain he felt and the burning ache in his bones as the fever of infection flooded his veins. And for Frerin to be begging . . . he must be about to die. He was terrified of the idea but at the same time . . . at least his brother forgave him the harsh things he'd said before. Despite their feud,  Frerin would stay by him until the end, somehow that idea gave him peace.

In his shock at receiving a reply, it took Fíli a moment to answer but when he did, the words were little more than a sob. Even if the blue eyes staring up at him were unfocused, they were looking at him. His uncle was looking at him and saying that he could rule. Thorin had never said anything so kind to him about his abilities and it broke Fíli's heart that it had taken all of this to enable him to do so. And yet, as happy as he was to hear those words, a part of him knew that it was not true.

"I can't," he argued his tone becoming more desperate as he continued. "I can't do this. I know I've said it before and was wrong but I can't rule. I don't know how. Not really. I . . . I can't make the difficult decisions like you do. I . . . I couldn't do what you asked of me. On that cliff. I . . . I never could have done it. Even though my mind knew it was right my heart . . . I couldn't have done it. I can't do what's required of me, even for the good of others. Not like you do."

"No," Thorin agreed. "You can't do things like I do. But . . . but that's what makes you _better_ than me. Don't you understand? I'm a fool. You've had things right more than once and I called you a coward. You've been right about so many things and I was too blinded by tradition and fear to see what you saw so easily. You're a better dwarf than me and you _will_ make a better king."

"I . . . I haven't," Fíli argued. "I've never . . . you . . . I'm _not_ better than you. I . . . I'm a fool and a coward and I will make the worst king in history. I . . ."

"No," Thorin said firmly before pausing and curling in on himself with a wince as the force of his speech made his ribs burn. He couldn't remember what injuries he'd sustained but it felt as if someone had flayed him alive. Every breath pulled against his skin and his shoulders felt as if someone had taken hot pokers to them. All he could do was wonder at the fact that he still drew breath at all when it was such agony to do so and hope that he stopped soon.   

"No," he repeated more quietly. "You have always been smarter than me. Even when we were young. And the things I said to you yesterday . . . I didn't mean them. I was frightened and . . . I shouldn't have called you a coward. Not when you were right. I should have done what you asked."

"What?" Fíli asked in confusion. His uncle's last speech had made no sense. They had argued the day before but he'd been the one saying harsh things. His uncle had said nothing but that he was sorry. And they'd never been young together. It was then that Fíli realized that even though he was looking at him, his uncle was not talking to him. He was talking to someone else entirely and Fíli had no doubt who it was.  Kíli has said that Thorin had believed him to be their mother, clearly Fíli was being mistaken for someone as well: Frerin, the uncle he'd never met who shared his face. His uncle believed him to be his dead brother. Even though he suspected it was so, his uncle's next words confirmed it.

"Yesterday, in our tent," Thorin said, sounding more ashamed than Fíli had heard him before other than when he'd confessed to why he'd been cold. "When you said that I should go to Father and stop the war and I said you were a coward who the people would never follow. I . . . I didn't mean it. Nor did I mean it when I said I never wanted to see you again. Even though that looks like what's going to happen. It's only fair really, that I die while you live. After all, you were the one brave enough to commit treason for the good of our people."

"No it . . . you can't die. I _need—_ " Fíli tried to say only to stop at the peaceful smile that stretched across his uncle's face.

"It's fine," Thorin said, that smile still there. "I . . . I am at peace with this, Brother. I fought valiantly and died well. I will not be ashamed amongst our ancestors. Especially not when I leave our people in such good hands. Tell . . . tell father I do not blame him. And Dís . . . tell her I'm sorry I never saw her children. I'm sure they would have been beautiful."

"Uncle," Fíli whispered, tears in his eyes once more at the peace he could see in Thorin, peace he'd never seen before. "Don't go. I . . . I need you." At the use of the word 'uncle' something shifted in Thorin's face and suddenly his peaceful smile was gone and a grimace took its place.

"Fíli," Thorin breathed, finally recognizing his nephew and feeling shame well within him at everything he had done to the lad. "Fíli. You survived after all. I'd heard . . . never mind. It was clearly untrue. I'm so sorry, Fíli. For everything. And especially for Kíli."

"Kíli!?" Fíli asked feeling a bit angry despite himself. Thorin thought he was on his death bed and he wanted to apologize about Kíli? How did Kíli merit an apology? Thorin nodded.

"I'm sorry that you had to take his life," Thorin explained, turning his head, unable to look at Fíli and see the same haunted expression he could feel on his own face. "I'm sorry that his blood is on your hands. I should never have put that on you. Not when I know what it is to kill your own brother. I'm so sorry, Lad."

"Uncle," Fíli replied wiping a tear from his uncle's cheek. "Kíli's not dead. I . . . I couldn't do it. He's right over there."

"Oh," Thorin replied, his brow scrunching up as he tried to make sense of his conflicting memories. Kíli wasn't dead but he wasn't there either. And then his conversation with his youngest nephew came to his mind. Kíli hated him, that's why he was gone.  There was only one thing he needed to know before the end, even if he already knew the answer.

"Do you hate me too?" Thorin asked in a small voice that Fíli had never heard him use before.

"No," the blonde dwarf replied steadily. "I don't hate you. I . . . I understand now why you did what you did. I don't hate you, Uncle." Thorin hummed, his eyes drifting closed once more.

"'s'good," he muttered. "At least one of my family will mourn me. I think . . . sleep now."

"Ok, Uncle," Fíli replied stroking his uncle's hair back from his forehead once more. "Sleep and regain strength to live." Thorin hummed but gave no verbal reply as he breathing slowed once more even if it was still faster and more shallow than normal and his head lulled on his shoulder.

Once he was sure that his uncle was actually asleep once more, he returned to his earlier task of bathing Thorin's face and neck with the cloth. As he did so, he couldn't help by chastise himself for believing that his uncle was speaking to him at first. Of course Thorin would never tell him that he was a better dwarf and would make a better king. It only made sense that his uncle had believed him to be another. After all, they both knew that Fíli could never rule.  He wasn't smart enough, brave enough or strong enough. If Thorin died . . . they were all doomed.

**ooOO88OOoo**

When they'd reached the others, Dwalin hadn't even bothered to watch his younger cousins reunite. He'd been too preoccupied with searching for his ownp brother. Even though Nori had reassured him more than once that Balin was alive and well, Dwalin had no intention of believing it until he saw for himself that he was fine. It wasn't at all difficult to find Balin. His white hair glowed like a beacon in the moonlight and Dwalin felt himself moving towards it without conscious thought.

"So," he drawled, crossing his arms across his chest and feigning disinterest when all he wanted to do was pull his brother against him and _feel_ that he was still whole, "looks like you weren't eaten by those giant sparrows after all."

"Nor were you," Balin replied in an equally detached tone, eyeing his brother with a critical eye though a smile was quirking his lips.

"Looks like the orcs did get you though," Dwalin said sitting beside his brother with a sigh and gesturing at the blood-soaked bandage on Balin's arm. "Seems like that's always what happens when we get in a skirmish. You always wind up injured." Try as he might, he couldn't cover the worry in his words.

"Does seem like that, doesn't it. And let me guess, you  managed to escaped unscathed yet again?" Balin sighed, though there was a bit of uncertainty in his words that turned his casual question into a serious one.

"That I did," Dwalin replied. "That's what comes from still being young and spry."

"Spry, eh?" Balin asked, raising an eyebrow at his brother. "You're only eight years younger than me, Dwalin. That's hardly enough to effect mobility. Especially when you figure that I'm not even actually old yet."

"You look old" Dwalin shot back, knocking his shoulder into Balin's and causing his brother to rock slightly at the impact. "Old enough to be my grandfather what with your white hair. I think that mistake has actually been made more than once."

"At least I _have_ hair," Balin replied with a snort causing Dwalin to laugh. If Balin was willing to trade barbs about hair his brother was truly fine. Even so, he had to _know._

"That the only wound you sustained?" Dwalin asked, allowing his concern to creep into his tone.

"Aye," Balin replied covering the bandage with his hand. Just talking about it made it throb.

"And you tended it? You didn't just wrap it and call it good? Orcs are nasty creatures, Brother," Dwalin said. "We've both seen more than one minor wound become grave due to lack of treatment. Especially in the wild."

"I tended to it," Balin replied his tone sharp but a smile crossing his face at his younger brother's concern. "Anyway, it was bleeding enough that infection's unlikely. Most likely washed it out."

"You'll still keep an eye on it?" Dwalin demanded.

"Aye, now stop your nagging," Balin scoffed. "I'm not dying. I've had worse than this training dwarflings. This won't do me in. You'll have to put up with me for quite some time, I'm afraid."

"I think I can deal with that," Dwalin replied feeling a bit sheepish for being called out on nagging his brother like that.

"So can I," Balin replied placing his uninjured hand on Dwalin's forearm. "Are you truly uninjured? There are both time and supplies if you aren't."

"I'm alright," Dwalin promised. "They never touched me. What about the rest?"

"Dori's got a nasty cut to his stomach," Balin sighed. "It didn't get his guts but it's still fairly long. It'll be a bit before he's up to climbing or carrying things. Bofur took a bit of a knock to the head but it's already quit bleeding. He's got a bit of a headache, but he'll be fine. Óin's got a bit of a limp where he turned his ankle on a bit of uneven ground during the battle but he says he's fine. And . . . " Balin trailed off, unable to tell Dwalin that Thorin was dying.

"And?" Dwalin prompted, wondering just what had his brother looking so dour. When Balin's dark eyes met his own he knew that they'd lost someone. Nori hadn't said anything about anyone being lost but Dwalin knew his brother well enough to know that expression.

"Who died?" he asked seriously looking around and seeing no one missing save the wizard.

"No one yet," Balin replied. "But . . . Brother, Thorin's not going to make it."

"What? What happened?" Dwalin asked unable to process that information even if he had halfway been expecting it since he'd seen the extent of the king's wounds and only that day had told Kíli that it was a very real possibility himself. Even if he'd said it, he'd never really _believed_ that Thorin would die. Not him. Thorin was one of the most stubborn dwarves he'd ever met. If anyone could resist the pull of death it would be Thorin. The only way he'd die was if it was what he wanted.

"We must have missed something," Balin said sadly. "There were just so many wounds . . . we must have missed one of the shallower ones and . . . he's got a fever. It's too high and not showing any signs of breaking any time soon. He's lost too much blood. His body can't fight off this infection. Not with all he's been through. Even if he _wanted_ to live, which he doesn't . . . We're going to lose him. Probably before dawn." Dwalin closed his eyes and nodded sadly. Even if he hadn't been prepared to face it, he'd been afraid this would happen. This was going to be a harsh blow to the company, not to mention the lads. Oh, Mahal, did they know yet?

"Do the lads know?" he asked eventually, dreading the answer. If they didn't know . . . who was going to tell them?

"Kíli does," Balin said sadly. "He was there when Thorin's fever spiked. I . . . I told him what it meant. And I'm sure that by now he's told his brother." Dwalin nodded again. Surely Kíli wouldn't try to keep this from Fíli. It wasn't as if he could protect his brother from this truth. No matter if Fíli knew or not, Thorin was still going to die. There was no shelter from this truth. Or any other for that matter.

"We have to tell him," Dwalin said suddenly looking levelly at his brother.

"Kíli's quite capable of telling his brother that they're going to lose their uncle," Balin said wondering just what Dwalin was on about. Surely he didn't _want_ to be the one to tell Fíli. Besides, it was high time that Kíli took a bit of responsibility upon himself. Especially as he was now the second-in-line for the throne. They'd have to begin preparing him for that position now. The last thing they needed was Fíli to die as well and Kíli to become king as he was now.  

"Not that," Dwalin corrected with a sigh before locking his eyes with Balin's and trying to make his brother understand what he meant without saying it directly. "We have to tell Fíli the truth. The _whole_ truth. What we did, why we did it. He needs to know. Especially with Thorin dying. We can't keep this from the lad any longer, Brother. He _deserves_ the truth."

"I won't deny that he deserves it," Balin agreed sadly. "But can he handle with it? The last few days have been easy for none of us but they've been especially difficult for Fíli. Is now _truly_ the time?"

"He can handle it," Dwalin said. "He's calmed a good deal since his assault on Kíli. His emotions are back under his control. He can handle the truth. We owe him nothing less."

"You're wrong," Kíli said suddenly, startling both of the older dwarves who hadn't heard the young heir walk up. "You owe him enough that you should keep your silence a bit longer. He can't handle this. Not right now. He needs time."

"You underestimate him, lad" Dwalin said looking up at the young dwarf as Kíli leaned against the wall with a grimace at the criticism.

"No," Kíli replied coldly, his pain making his words harsher than he'd intended. "You _over_ estimate him. Everyone always has. Just because he's pushed everything down again doesn't mean he's fine. Have you actually _spoken_ to him lately? Because I have," Kíli continued more loudly to cover Dwalin's protests, "He's _not_ fine. He's calm on the surface but . . ."

"But what, lad?" Balin prompted as Kíli trailed off. He'd never had to prompt Kíli for information like this. Something about the change in his demeanor and the seriousness in his eyes and tone made Balin believe him, even if what he was saying made little sense. He thought that he would know if Fíli was still unstable, Dwalin would know, but something about the way Kíli was speaking was compelling, in the same way his mother and uncle demanded belief. It was a new quality but Balin was not about to question it. Not now.

"I can't explain it," Kíli said eventually, shaking his head while his face scrunched up in concentration. "There just . . . something's not right, Balin. I . . . I can't explain it, just trust me. He just . . . he doesn't _feel_ right. He's not as together as he seems. There's something . . . almost _brittle_ about him. Like one harsh word would be enough to shatter him. He smiles and he seems happy but he _feels_ wrong.

"That's the best I can do but you have to believe me," Kíli said almost frantically. "Please, just . . . just give him a bit more time. You can't do this now. Not with . . . not with Uncle dying. I know how Fíli's mind works. He'll only think you're doing it because Uncle is gone and no longer important. He'll think that you're only confessing because he's now king, not because he deserves the truth or your apology. And if you do it before he dies, Fíli will give up all hope of Uncle surviving and you can't take that from him. Hope's all we've got at the moment. All _he's_ got. Please, don't do this yet."

Dwalin wanted to point out that if they didn't do it while Thorin was dying then there was no way to avoid Kíli's prediction of what Fíli would think their motivation was but Balin spoke before he could.

"Alright, lad," Balin promised. "If you truly think it would break him, we'll hold off a bit longer. But, Kíli, we're going to have to tell him eventually. The moment your uncle passes from this world, Fíli is our king. We can't take our oaths to him with such a secret between us. He'll have to be told. We can do no less at that point."

"I know that," Kíli replied softly, looking over to where his brother sat beside his uncle with his head in his hands. "I just. . . give him as much time as you can." Even though Kíli knew it was cruel, he couldn't help but pray that his uncle clung to life as long as he could. Even if it would be better for him if he passed quickly, there was only so much time Kíli could buy his brother if Thorin died. _If he can't survive this, at least let him protect Fíli, just this once, like he always has me,_ Kíli prayed, hoping that the Maker would listen to his prayer as it wasn't _truly_ a selfish one, even if it would bring more pain and suffering on another if granted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all, remember me? Once more I must apologize for the delay. School started back up and there's just a ton of work that needs to be done. Good news is, school's over in five more weeks. Bad news is, I'm expecting a baby four weeks after that. I should still have time to write (newborns do sleep a lot from what I'm told) but if things slow down (not more than they already have but you know what I mean) that's what's going on. That said, I will do my best to keep updates coming in a regular fashion. I hope you're still enjoying this fic and would love to hear what you thought.
> 
> Stickdonkeys


	39. No-Win Situations and the Brilliance of Hobbits

Despite Balin's dire prediction, Thorin still continued to draw breath when dawn came. True, it was still far too labored to be comforting of to give them any hope for his long-term survival, but it was still breath all the same. His fever still raged on with no signs of stopping any time soon, but this was not through lack of effort to curb it. Both Fíli and Kíli had sat beside him through the night doing what little they could to dissipate the heat and yet keep him warm. They had traded off shifts and both gotten a bit of rest, but neither of them felt rested, or particularly accomplished.

True, Thorin was not dead, but he was no better than he'd been the night before either. He also hadn't regained consciousness since he spoke with Fíli, though he did continue to mutter in his sleep. Neither brother would admit it, but they were both secretly glad of this fact. Fíli because he didn't want to hear Thorin speak to him as though he mattered once again when he knew that he didn't and Kíli because he feared what his uncle might say to his brother.

As the sun broke over the horizon Fíli sighed. "He's not going to make it, is he?" he asked turning away from his uncle's battered and pained features to face Kíli.

"I don't know," Kíli replied honestly. "I . . . I _want_ to say that he will. I just . . . I can't imagine him being . . . dead. He's always been there and . . . I've never even seen him _injured_ before and he's dying. I just . . . I never thought of him dying before."

"Everyone dies, Kíli," the golden-haired brother replied softly. "Except the elves. He . . . he was going to die someday." He understood his brother's distress. Thorin had always been there for Kíli, infallible, indomitable and perfect. And Kíli was still so naive in some ways that Fíli was willing to take his word that he had never once thought about the fact that their uncle must someday die.  Fíli had. Ever since he'd found out about their heritage, he'd known that someday Thorin would die and he would be forced to take up the mantle of kingship: a task he'd always suspected—and now knew—to be beyond him. It was a day that he had feared for many years and now it looked like it would be soon.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," Kíli replied."He was supposed to . . . well if he _had_ to it should have been . . . " He paused a moment debating with himself over whether or not he should say what he wanted to before deciding that he couldn't leave it unsaid. They couldn't leave things unsaid any longer. Especially not with their uncle dying. Fíli . . . he was going to need all the support he could get and Kíli knew he couldn't offer his brother that with secrets between them. Balin and Dwalin had been right about that.

"Fíli, _we_ did this," Kíli muttered, hating himself both for the acts they had committed and for bringing it up when his brother was already on edge. "We're the reason he's dying. No. _I'm_ the reason he's dying. If I hadn't have come . . . then .  . ." Fíli reached out with his left hand and grasped Kíli's forearm to comfort him. Even if what he was saying was true, Fíli couldn't sit there and allow his brother to blame himself for Thorin's decision. It wasn't as if he had _asked_ for this, after all.

"Your presence made little difference. If you hadn't have come then another member of the company would be in the same condition he is or worse," Fíli replied softly, his voice showing no sign about how he felt about what he was saying. "The goblins wanted the youngest so . . . most likely me. I probably would have died in that cave."

"No," Kíli protested, pulling away from Fíli, his face twisted in disbelief. "No. They wouldn't have touched you. Uncle would have—"

"Do you truly believe that?" Fíli asked with a sad smile. "Do you honestly believe that he would have sacrificed himself for me as he did you?" Kíli opened his mouth to say that there was no doubt in his mind but closed it instead and gave his brother a sheepish grin instead. "I didn't think so," Fíli continued looking away over the expanse of Middle Earth they could see from the eyrie.

"I'm sorry," Kíli offered extending his hand as if to place it on Fíli's shoulder before pulling it back and placing it in his own lap.

"Why?" Fíli asked, turning back to his brother with a sad smile. "You didn't ask for any of this. You didn't ask him to favor you or belittle me. I _don't_ blame you. And I don't hate you. When . . . _if_ he dies, I will not blame you for that either. Nor will anyone else. Thorin made his choice. He _chose_ to protect you. None can deny that. No one will blame you."

 _I will_ , Kíli thought bitterly taking his own turn to look away. He knew that his brother was right. Most dwarves would not hold him responsible for his uncle's death, even if it had been for his sake. No, Thorin would be remembered a hero for sacrificing himself in defense of his kin. But Kíli knew that he could never forgive himself for his part in it. _He_ would always know that he had cost his uncle his life. That fact would haunt him until the day he died.   

There was nothing more either of them could think of to say so they lapsed into silence once more and returned to their task of keeping watch over their uncle. They were only alone for a short time before Balin walked up and looked carefully at Thorin before letting out a sigh. He'd truly hoped that his cousin would have passed peacefully in the night. His words the night before hadn't been a prediction, but rather a prayer for a semi-painless end.

 It was that he _wanted_ Thorin to die, it was more that he had no wish to cause his cousin further pain. Since he'd made it through the night, they now had no choice but to attempt to stop the infection raging through his veins. He'd hoped to avoid unwrapping the wounds and bleeding the infected ones, and thereby spare him yet more pain when the treatment itself was likely to prove fatal, but Thorin had always been a stubborn thing. With another sigh he gestured his brother over with a jerk of his head. It was only once Dwalin was at his side that he finally spoke.

"I'm sorry, lads," he said quietly kneeling beside Thorin across from them. "It's time."

"Time for what?!" Kíli demanded, his voice abnormally shrill and his expression nearly hostile. " What do you intend to do?! He's still alive."

"Aye," Dwalin agreed sadly. "And it'd be better for him if he wasn't."

"What?" Kíli began wondering just how it would be better for his uncle to be dead. True, he wouldn't be in pain but . . . for Dwain to say it so callously . . . he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Thorin was Dwalin's cousin, his shield-brother, his _king_ , how could he wish him dead? He looked to his brother for support, but Fíli's eyes were closed and his head bowed in acceptance of whatever was to come. He was alone in this, and he didn't like it.

"Sit him up for me," Balin ordered Dwalin. The younger son of Fundin nodded and moved behind his cousin and forced his limp frame into a sitting position. He flinched slightly as Thorin's head lulled pathetically. If it wasn't for the regular, pained intake of breath that he could hear and the heat radiating off the body in his arms, he could have easily believed that his king was dead for all the resistance Thorin provided. He hated to think that this time he, rather than ropes, would be the one holding Thorin for death to claim him.

"Stop," Kíli said starting forward as Dwalin began maneuvering his uncle. "H-he needs to rest! He can't get better if you keep _wallowing_ him!"

"Kíli," Fíli said softly, placing a hand on his brother's arm to stop him and nearly flinching away from the desperation in Kíli's brown eyes. "They're trying to help." At his brother's incredulous expression, Fíli continued, looking to Balin for confirmation. "They . . . they're going to try to get rid of the infection. Aren't you?"

"Aye, lad," Balin agreed, glad that one of them understood what was happening and not the least bit surprised that it was Fíli. With how calmly he was taking everything, Balin couldn't help but wonder if Kíli had been wrong the night before about his brother's state of mind.

"We're going to try to find the infected wound and clean it out," Balin continued. "See if we can't save his life."

"Then why didn't you do that last night!?" Kíli demanded, rounding on his older cousin. "When I asked you if there was anything we could do to save him . . . why didn't you suggest this? We could have been _doing_ something instead of just praying."

"Because cleaning out the wound may kill him," Balin replied simply. He understood why Kíli was upset, but he just wanted to get on with it, not sit here going in circles. "He's lost too much blood as it is and when we find the infected wound we're going to have to bleed it clean and then seal it shut once more. I was trying to avoid inflicting more pain on him if he wasn't going to survive it anyway. But he was strong enough to make it through the night. He just _might_ make it through this."

"Then shouldn't we wait a bit longer?" Fíli asked quietly, his blue eyes cautious as he suggested that his elder cousin might be wrong. "Let him regain a bit more strength before we do? Might that increase his chances of survival?"

"No, lad," Balin said gently, offering the golden-heir a small, sad smile. "If we wait the infection is more likely to kill him than the treatment. It'll only get worse the longer we let it sit and if it sits too long . . . well, it won't matter what we do. But if that is what you'd prefer, we will wait. This is your decision, lad. After all, he is your family and, by rights, this is your company as long as he's incapacitated."

Fíli sighed in response before looking at his unconscious uncle. While he'd already known what Balin had just said . . . hearing it aloud. He was in charge. Not only of himself but of his uncle's fate and furthermore, the fate of twelve others. The stakes had never been higher for him. He'd never had to make a decision like this one—a decision where someone's life hung in the ballance . . . actually that wasn't true. He'd been in this position once before and look how _that_ had gone. Because of what had seemed so simple a choice at the time—no choice really—his uncle was now dying and he'd attacked his brother. And now that same uncle he'd tortured . . . now his fate was once more in Fíli's hands and he had no idea what to do. It seemed that no matter what he chose to do this time he was wrong. And it wasn't as if he could force someone else to make the decision for him . . . true, the choice not to choose _was_ an option, but then all he would have accomplished was pushing the burden of making the wrong choice off on someone else. Someone who'd had no hand in putting Thorin into his position. Someone who didn't deserve the guilt. No, he had to choose. Even if he chose wrong.

"There is no right decision here, is there?" he asked eventually, his voice impossibly small as he continued to stare at Thorin. "No matter what I decide . . . there's no right choice. If I wait . . . he could die. If I tell you to do it . . . "

 "Why isn't there a right choice?" He demanded turning to Balin as his good hand began knotting up the hem of his tunic. "There should be a right choice!" His voice grew higher and his speech quicker as he continued until by the end he sounded nearly frantic.

"It's alright, lad," Balin said trying to calm the young dwarf before him. It was then that he saw what Kíli had been talking about the night before. While it was true that Fíli _looked_ calm and collected, just below that he was still lost and confused by the way things had gone. It was also then that he realized that Thorin _had_ to survive. One look at Fíli's frantic eyes was all it took for him to see that the pressures of ruling a kingdom were more than he could handle now. For one no-win situation to drive him to this . . .   _everything_ about ruling was a no-win situation. Every decision you made that was for the good of many was sure to hurt some. This, while there was _a_ life on the line, wasn't anywhere near the stakes that kings were forced to deal with on a daily basis. No. Fíli could not rule. Not yet. Thorin _had_ to survive.

"No, it's not," Fíli breathed looking at his own knees and pulling at his hair with his good hand.  "It's not alright. I should. . . I should be able to see the right solution. That's the one thing I've always been good at. I've nearly always had the right answer, or could at least see why I had the wrong one. But . . . there's not a good choice.  There _has_ to be a good choice. Tell me what it is! Please? Show me where I've gone wrong so I don't do it again. I won't do it again, I swear."

"You haven't gone wrong, Fíli," Balin said gently. "You're right. There is no easy answer to this. There _is_ no good solution. No matter what course we take, we could be wrong. We probably _are_ wrong. There is no answer at all this time. There is only hope that we made the best choice we could."

"There _has_ to be one," Fíli insisted. "There is _always_ an answer."

"No, there's not," Balin said firmly. "In lessons, yes, there is always an answer. But, Fíli, in life," he paused to allow a bitter laugh to escape his lips. "In life, there is often no answer. Or at least no _good_ one. There are times you just can't win. And then you just have to make the best choice you can with the information you have and let things happen as they may."

"But what if I make the wrong choice?" Fíli asked, sounding a bit more calm even if his hand was still fisted in cloth and his eyes still frantic. "What then?"

"You live with the decision," Dwalin replied. "Everyone has made choices they regretted. You just have to live with the consequences. You still have to make the decision though. You can't _not_ choose just because you don't know how it will end. Not in life and especially not as a King. Now what do you want us to do? Tell us and we will abide by your choice."

"I . . . " Fíli paused and closed his eyes.  "Do it," he said eventually, his voice strangled. "Do it," he repeated, opening his eyes. "Find the infection and get rid of it."

"Fíli!" Kíli began, "You can't just—"

"It's the only thing we can do, Kíli," he said turning to his brother, his eyes flashing with anger. "They think it's best and I trust them. They can clean out the wound and give him the best chance to fight it and live. It's the only choice I can make."

"But what if—"

"I didn't see _you_ volunteering to make the choice for us," Fíli snarled, not needing Kíli to say the exact same thing that his conscience was already screaming. "Unless _you_ want to take responsibility for the outcome and are willing to face Mother if you chose wrong, I don't want to hear it. So either you decide to make the decision for me and be willing to shoulder the burden of the consequence or you abide by what I decided. Which is it?"

"I . . . " Kíli began before closing his mouth and shaking his head angrily, his eyes molten with fury and pain. "I won't watch this," he said, standing with a grunt and turning his back on the scene. "I've already seen him in enough pain that I won't watch you inflict more on him. I just hope you know what you're doing."

 _So do I,_ Fíli thought as he watched his brother stomp off and sit beside Bilbo and Bofur across the eyrie. He only sat there for a moment before turning back to Balin and Dwalin.

"What can I do to help?" he asked. They exchanged a look, wordlessly asking one another if it wouldn't be better to send the lad away while they took care of this before Balin closed his eyes and sighed.

"Help me get his shirt off," he said finally, deciding that they couldn't hide the extent of Thorin's injuries from the heir and needed the extra pair of hands besides. Fíli nodded and moved to grasp the hem. "On three," Balin said. "And if it is stuck to something, just keep pulling. It'll come free and he won't feel it at the moment anyway." Fíli nodded his understanding and waited for the signal before pulling his side of the back of his uncle's shirt over Thorin's head and looking to Balin for approval.

"Good," his cousin offered. "Now, we can't raise his arms over his head so what we're going to do is pull the shirt down over them and remove it that way." With that completed, Balin sighed once more. He knew that what came next would do nothing to help Fíli, not when most of the damage had been inflicted by him, but it had to be done all the same.

"Now," he paused to swallow and compose himself before delivering the next command. "Now we have to remove the bandages. All of them.  And . . . Fíli  . . ."

"I know, Balin," the young dwarf replied. "I know they're bad. I remember. I can do this." Neither Balin nor Dwalin truly believed that he was up to it, but he claimed that he was and they weren't about to try to tell him that he couldn't do something, especially with as little confidence as the lad already had. If he said he could do it . . .  they were going to let him try.

"Alright, laddie," Balin said offering him a sad smile. "In that case, let's get started. This time if it sticks be gentle. We don't want to do more damage than good."

"I understand," Fíli said, determination burning in his eyes as he reached for the first tuck he could see with his left hand and began the slow process of unwrapping the linen. He couldn't help his wince as the wounds he had inflicted were revealed. On the one hand, they looked better without all the blood but on the other, with them clean he could see just how many of them there were. And none of them looked to be healing well. He knew that most of the redness and drainage was a side-effect of the burns they'd used to seal the wounds shut—he'd gotten enough of them in the forge—but . . . if he was honest with himself, they all looked infected.

"Balin," he breathed, "what am I supposed to be looking _for_? They're all red. They all look like they're draining. They . . . they can't _all_ be infected, can they?"

"No, lad," Balin said quietly, agreeing with Fíli's assessment that the wounds didn't look good. "They're not all infected. If they're draining clear or blood, it's not infection. Anything else . . . we'll need to look at it. Understand?" Fili gave a small grunt and went back to what he was doing, wishing all the while to be anywhere but where he was. But he wouldn't leave. No matter how much seeing the wounds was hurting him, he knew that he had no right to complain. After all, he had inflicted them. Thorin had to endure the pain of them, the least he could do was bear to look at them.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Eventually they found the wound causing the problems. It wasn't one of the knife wounds that had already been treated, but rather one of the whip wheals on his legs that had been forgotten in light of the more grievous injuries to his torso. That such a small wound had caused all this trouble worried Fíli. After all, it was only one wheal that had broken the skin and gotten infected due to neglect and Kíli had many that had also broken the skin and been neglected. Once they were done with Thorin, Fíli was determined that he was going to hunt down his brother and see to Kíli's own wounds even if he had to have Dwalin hold him down to do it.

But that didn't happen.

No sooner had they gotten the last bandage secure once more than Gandalf was there forcing Fíli into yet another decision that there was no good answer to. It seemed that was all he got anymore: difficult decisions. And while he understood why they were his to make, it seemed brutally unfair that everything was falling on him to decide.

"I have spoken with the Lord of the Eagles," Gandalf said, leaning on his staff and looking at them with what almost looked like pity.

"And?" Dwalin asked, wondering just why the wizard had walked over to tell them that just as Balin asked, "The birds _speak?_ "

"They are no mere birds. But yes, the Eagles speak!" Gandalf said sounding more than a bit affronted on behalf of the giant birds, though Fíli didn't understand why. After all, who expected a bird, no matter how giant, that wasn't a raven, to speak? Especially when not all ravens were capable of it either.

"What did he say?" Fíli asked when it was apparent that Gandalf did not intend to continue on his own.

"He said that he and his people will bear us across the River to speed our travels," Gandalf replied. "Yet they will bear us no farther. He says that they dare not for fear of the arrows of men."

"Is there a village near there?" Fíli asked softly. "Uncle . . . he needs to rest. It's not that I'm not grateful for their offer, I am, but . . . he won't survive in the wilds. If there's nowhere nearby that we can seek refuge for a few days at least . . . can they truly take us no nearer civilization?"

"If he survives the trip at all," Balin added. "How do they propose to transport him? They cannot grip him by the arms as they did before. Not for so long a flight. His shoulder's won't bear it. The joints aren't strong enough. They'll rip right from the sockets." Fíli flinched at Balin's graphic description of what might happen.

"He will have to be carried," Gandalf said. "Or he will have to remain here. There is no way down save for the air."

"Could . . . could he perhaps _ride_?" Fíli suggested. "I know they're no mere birds but . . . he can't be carried, Gandalf."

"I am afraid he cannot," the wizard replied. "Even if one of the Eagles would permit itself to be ridden—which it would not—it would be unable to fly with anything between its wings. He will have to go below with the rest of us."

Fíli sighed at the pronouncement and curled in on himself slightly, fisting his hand in his hair once more. It seemed unbearably cruel that right on the tail of the choice of how to kill his uncle he now had to decide whether to strand the entire company for one dwarf—which he _knew_ he couldn't do—, risk maiming or crippling his uncle for life if he _did_ live—a fate which for a dwarf would be worse than death—, or abandoning his uncle entirely—for which Fíli knew that Kíli would never forgive him for, nor would his mother. There really was no choice this time. Thorin _had_ to come. And if the Eagles had to carry him, that was how it was going to have to be. He could see no alternative. Once more, his hands were tied and he hated it.

"What about a sling?" a voice suggested.

"What?" Fíli asked jerking his head up sharply to see Bilbo standing beside the wizard.

"I'm sorry," the hobbit said. "I couldn't help but overhear. I have a needle and thread, the company has spare cloaks. Couldn't I stitch the spares into a sling that could go around Thorin that he could lay in while the Eagles carried him? That would solve the problem of his shoulders and allow him to come with us, wouldn't it?"

"A sling!" Balin cried, rising to his feet and clapping the hobbit on the shoulder. "Master Baggins, you are brilliant! It's an elegant solution, isn't it, Fíli?" Fíli's only response was nearly hysterical laughter. He couldn't believe that he'd been lucky enough to have this choice taken from him. It almost seemed too good to be true. Eventually he calmed once more and looked at Bilbo, a gentle smile on his face.

"It's perfect," he said before standing and offering his jacket to Bilbo for the project. "I wish I could do more. But I can't sew to save my life."

"Oh, it's quite alright," Bilbo answered. "I'm quite quick. It shouldn't take long."

"All the same," Fíli said quietly, placing a hand gently on Bilbo's arm. "I cannot tell you how much this means to me. Thank you, Bilbo."

"You're most welcome, Fíli," the hobbit replied honestly. "I only wish I could do more. Now, let me gather more cloaks."

"I'll take care of that," Dwalin said. "You just start sewing." Bilbo nodded, removing his own cloak before sitting down in the spot Kíli had previously vacated and beginning to stitch his cloak to Fíli's jacket. Fíli sat beside him, staring out at the sunrise and thanking the Maker for the day Bilbo Baggins had decided to accompany them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, but better late than never, right?


	40. Tensions and Dwarves Flying High

In the end, Bilbo was right. It only took a short amount of time to sew the cloaks into a sling, a time only made shorter by Ori's assistance. It wasn't the _prettiest_ work either of them had ever done, but it would serve its purpose. And even if it had been done in haste, they were both confident that their seams would hold. Kíli, however, wasn't so certain.

"Are you _sure_ that will work?"  he asked, eying the patchwork fabric with a skeptical expression on his face.

"Of course we are!" Ori exclaimed glaring at the young heir. "I wouldn't dare put Thorin in anything I wasn't certain would work. Do you take me for a traitor?"

"No one said anything of the sort, Ori," Fíli said quickly, stepping in before his brother could snap back and start an argument. "Kíli's just worried for our uncle.  Just in case though, perhaps we should test it on the ground before we send him into the air in it." Ori puffed up indignantly but was stopped from replying by Bilbo's hand on his arm.

"I think a test would make us all feel better," Bilbo said, a gentle smile on his face. "Any volunteers?" The dwarves looked between themselves for a moment before Kíli heaved a sigh.

"I'll do it," he snapped, irritated that they wanted to put his uncle into something and fly him through the air when none of them were willing to get into it on the ground.

"No," Fíli said sharply, horrified at the idea of Kíli doing anything more strenuous than sitting still until he'd had a chance to corner him in private and insist to see his wounds. "You can't."

"And why not?!" the younger demanded, glaring at his brother. He'd had more than enough of Fíli's changes of heart and mind. He hated himself for it, but he almost wondered if Fíli didn't want him to test it because he was halfway hoping that their uncle would fall. Even if Fíli had been the one to suggest testing it, he'd only done so after Kíli had questioned the sling. Once he never would have thought his brother capable of such a thing but now, with as much as he _hadn't_ understood about his brother  . . . he wasn't sure he'd ever known Fíli at all.

"You're _injured_ , Kíli," the elder said, his tone implying that it shouldn't have needed said.

"Nowhere near as badly as Uncle," Kíli bit back. "And you want to put him into it. Besides, me being injured actually makes me perfect."

"How do you figure that?" Fíli snapped, more than done with his brother's attitude. All he wanted to do was try to keep anyone from hurting more than they needed to and Kíli was acting as if he was trying to do the exact opposite. He wanted to tell Kíli that if it wasn't for him the other's would have let Thorin get picked up by the Eagles or left behind and that maybe he should show a bit of gratitude or at least not be openly hostile. But he didn't. He couldn't bring himself to say the words, even though they nearly burned his throat in their desire to be free.

"I'm less injured than he is," Kíli replied tersely. "If I can't bear to be in the sling then there's no way that he can."

"He's unconscious and delirious, Kíli," Fíli countered, hating the way the simple truth of the matter sounded. It almost sounded as if he didn't care about causing Thorin pain but he had to remain focused on the facts. The alternative—thinking about how much pain he was about to cause his uncle . . . No. It was better to focus on the facts, even if they made him sound cold.

 "He won't even know that he's in the sling," he continued. "And it's not as if he has a choice either wa—"

"That's no excuse for you to cause him undue pain!" Kíli exclaimed. "Damn it, Fíli! Just because—

"That's not what I'm doing, Kíli," Fíli cut in, not wanting to hear whatever was going to come from his brother.   He couldn't endure yet another of Kíli's tirades. Not with the other stresses he was under. Not that day.

"I'll test it," Dwalin cut-in before Kíli could reply. He knew that the last thing the needed at the moment was the two heirs to the throne getting in a brawl. It wasn't as if their image wasn't irreparably tarnished as it was, but they didn't need a rehash now, or ever again for that matter. He hated to think what the others were already thinking and if they couldn't salvage the family name at least partially, then Fíli's neglect had been in vain. And at the end of the day, Dwalin _had_ to believe that it had counted for something.

"Makes more sense anyway," he said looking Kíli square in the eye in an attempt to get him to back down. "You may be injured and better able to tell us how he'll cope, but I'm the closest in size to Thorin. Even if the sling will hold _you_ that's no guarantee that it'll hold _him_." Neither of the brothers had an argument that they could make against that statement.

Even with that argument settled, it was nearly as difficult to find four members of the company that were fit enough to attempt to lift Dwalin in the sling. All of them were sore and tired and the majority of them had injuries of some form from the last week. But in the end, the sling was tested—Ori watching with a vindicated smirk on his features as their stitching survived Dwalin being bounced—and found to be sturdy and Thorin was carefully loaded into it and lifted into the air by one of the great Eagles.

As they watched him being carried away and awaited their own turns to be lifted, Bofur looked at Bilbo. "Too bad we didn't have enough cloaks to build slings for us all," he said with a wistful grin.

"Isn't it?" Bilbo replied, closing his eyes and wincing as the wind from the eagle's wings buffeted him. It was everything he could do not to shriek as the giant talons closed gently, yet inescapably, around his arms.  Inescapable as they might be, Bilbo found that he was not able to open his eyes again until his feet were once more firmly on the ground. Faster than walking it may have been, but flying was no way for a hobbit to travel.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Little did Bilbo know, more than one dwarf would have been more than happy to second that sentiment. Dwarves may not have disliked heights in general, but when those heights came from dangling from the claws of eagles rather than with solid stone beneath their feet . . . no, most of the company now knew for certain why the Maker had not created them with wings. And the more injured among them . . . well, even _had_ the eagles been willing to take them all the way to the Lonely Mountain, they were thankful that the flight was a short one all the same, even if it meant months more walking.

 Despite his worry for his uncle's health, Kíli was in this last group. Even though he'd known that it was pointless, he'd avoided being lifted until last in an attempt to avoid pain as long as he could. Whether by design of the birds or mere luck, he must have had the fastest eagle because though he was the last to leave he was the first to their destination. Once he would have turned to his brother and gloated about such a thing, but this time he felt no desire to do so. Not only had things changed between them so much that he wasn't sure his teasing would be welcome, but he was also unable to tease about something that had brought him no real pleasure. In fact, the only pleasure he took from his ride was the fact that since his eagle had been the swiftest, it gave him time to compose himself before the others arrived.

They already thought him childish enough due to his frequent arguments with his brother, they didn't need to know that he couldn't endure a bit of pain. He'd wanted to cry out when the eagle had lifted him and pulled the scabs and bruises on his back but had held it in. And now that he was on the ground once more, all he wanted to do was curl in on himself in an attempt to ride out the waves of pain washing over him, but he didn't. After all, his uncle had stayed strong up until he lost consciousness. If he could _travel_ as wounded as he was, Kíli knew that he could set his jaw and remain upright. After all, he wasn't a child and it was only a few cuts and bruises. They would heal, his reputation would not.

It was that thought that led to him moving forward to take his turn to bear his uncle on the makeshift stretcher they constructed from two young trees that Dwalin and Glóin cut and the sling that Bilbo and Ori had made. He sighed as he saw Fíli open his mouth out of the corner of his eye.

"I don't want to hear it, Fíli," he muttered standing beside the pole at the right side of his uncle's head. "I'm doing this."

"I can't let you," Fíli replied placing a hand on his arm. "You're injured. You need to be treated."  
  
"We don't have time for—" Kíli began only to be cut off by a gentle shake of his brother's head.

"I know we don't," Fíli agreed. "Not if we want Uncle to live. Gandalf says he has a friend nearby that might allow us to stay there until he's well enough to move." Kíli opened his mouth to retort but Fíli held up his hand and kept talking, knowing what his brother's argument would be, " _but_ just because we need to get him there doesn't mean you have to be one of the ones to do it. In case you've forgotten, you're injured and—."

"You think I've forgotten?!" Kíli snapped, his good will at his brother's understanding of his reasoning gone in a flash at his implication that Kíli didn't know enough to know about his own body. "I _assure_ you, _Brother_ , I am _quite_ well aware of the fact that I'm injured. But so are over half of us! How is it fair of me to ask Dori, Balin, Bofur or Óin or _you_ to do something for _my_ kin that I'm unwilling to do myself?"

"It's not the same thing, Kíli," Fíli sighed just as Nori said, "Dori's not going to be helping at all. Strongest he may be but—"

"We don't expect him to, do we lads?" Bofur said cutting off Nori's protests and attempting to pacify the irate dwarf. "No more than we expect Kíli's help or Thorin to stand up and carry himself. Kíli was just using him as an example but the heavily wounded aren't expected to help."

"Heavily wounded?!" Kíli retorted and set about criticizing Bofur's classification of him while Fíli said, "Bofur's right, Nori. Kíli didn't mean it," and Balin tried to defuse the situation and calm everyone before it turned into a brawl.

"And how do you know he was just using Dori as an example?" Nori demanded rounding on Fíli amid the chaos of the various arguments that were taking place. "It's not like you can claim to—"

"ENOUGH!" Dwalin cut in before Nori could finish his statement, his shout carrying over the chaos and stopping the chatter. A warrior he may have been, but none of them had ever heard him raise his voice outside of combat before. Not like that.  

"That's enough," he repeated once he had their attention. "This isn't getting us anywhere. Now listen. I know you're all tired. I am too, _but_ we _have_ to get Thorin to the friend of the wizard if we want him to live. We _do_ want him to live, don't we?" he asked rhetorically, pausing until he received the resounding chorus of aye's before continuing.

"Good," he said. "Bofur, Bombur, Glóin and I will take the first shift. When one of us gets tired, someone else can step up. Dori, you and Kíli are _not_ participating in the rotation. Won't do to have you doing more damage to yourselves than good." Kíli opened his mouth to protest but Dwalin shook his head.

"I said no and no amount of coercing by you will change my mind," Dwalin said firmly. "Last thing we need now is you pushing yourself farther than you can and collapsing forcing us to have to carry you as well."

"But Uncle—" Kíli began only for Dwalin to cut in.

"Is he really the best example you can come up with as to why you _shouldn't_ rest, lad?" he asked gesturing at his cousin who was beginning to writhe again as the fever dreams hit once more. Kíli seemed to think about it a moment before a light flush crept up his face in embarrassment at having such a foolish mistake pointed out in front of everyone. "I thought as much. You're not helping." Even once Kíli backed down, they continued to stand there staring at one another, the arguments of moments before silenced but not forgotten.

"What are you waiting for?" Glóin demanded stepping up to the pole. "Lead the way, Wizard."

Gandalf nodded and began leading them into the woods, grumbling to himself about the rudeness of dwarves  and wondering why he didn't leave them to their own devices in the wilderness and see how well they did without him. It only took one look back at the young ones, Fíli especially, to remind him why. After all, he did feel some responsibility for the traumas they'd experienced.

The quest itself may have been Thorin Oakenshield's, but the timing and initiation of it was his doing. After all, without the key and the map, Thorin would never have attempted this and as he had been the one to provide those things . . . he felt it was now his duty to attempt to repair the damage he had helped to cause.  And while the others of his order might not wish to meddle in the affairs of Middle Earth, he'd already set things into motion that could not be undone. And besides, even if it was beyond him to determine who lived and who died, what harm was there in doing his best to see that one dwarf survived at least a bit longer.

As the giant hedgerow came into view, Gandalf let out a sigh. They'd arrived. Now all he had to do was hope that Beorn was feeling up to entertaining guests and pray to the Valar that for once in their lives the dwarves could hold their tongues if their pride was insulted.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI! Sorry it's been so long. The baby takes a bit more time than I thought she was going to, and when you add to that that I was studying for the biggest test in my life (which I passed by some strange miracle so I'm now an RN) . . . well, updates hit a major snag. Good news is that now studying and one fic are out of rotation so maybe things will get back to normal.
> 
> Also can you believe we've finally made it to Beorn's?! and it only took me 40 chapters :/ I am far too wordy for my own good :( At least it's been a good wordy, right?


	41. Deities and Deaf Ears

As they sat before the fire in Beorn's great room that afternoon, it was clear that either the Valar had heard Gandalf's prayer or luck was with them for the first time since they had fallen into the goblin's trap four days before. Not only had the giant skin-changer been willing to allow them to shelter in his home and to offer them board, he had also offered them full run of the property in search of medicinal plants, provided they were inside before dusk. This had rankled a bit with the dwarves, but in the end they had had no choice but to agree to the terms. After all, they were all weary and they knew there was no chance Thorin would survive in the wilds.

This knowledge did not stop them from grumbling amongst themselves about their restrictions, out of earshot of their host, of course.

"In before nightfall," Óin groused as he and Bilbo searched for herbs to replace the ones he'd lost on the cliff. "Haven't had such restrictions since I was a dwarfling."

"Nor have I," Bilbo agreed . "Not that I was ever a dwarfling, mind, but I haven't had a curfew since I was a tween. Even so, if we're restricted I'm certain there's a good reason for it. Beorn don't seem a bad sort. If he wants us inside before dark, well then something bad must be about after dark." Óin said nothing but he couldn't stop his snort of laughter at the naïveté of hobbits.

"What?" Bilbo demanded. "You don't believe there is?"

"Lad, it doesn't matter what I believe," the dwarf replied. "Our host has placed the restriction and if we wish to keep his hospitality we'd best abide by it. Doesn't mean I have to like it." Bilbo hummed in response and picked a herb and dropped it in his basket.

"Do you think we should head back?" the hobbit asked holding his nearly-full basket aloft.

"There are still hours of daylight left," Óin replied absently as he examined a plant before shaking his head and moving on leaving the worthless weed where it was. "We haven't found all the herbs I lost yet. We'll keep looking."

"I wasn't worried about the light but . . . wouldn't you be more use back at the house? I mean, Thorin . . . wouldn't you be more help to him there than you are here with me?" Bilbo asked quietly.

"I've done what I can for him, lad," Óin said sadly, placing a hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "It's in the hands of the Maker now. I don't know if you hobbits have someone you pray to, but if you do that's the best thing you can do for Thorin now. Herbs will only go so far."

"We do," Bilbo said, seeing it as an invitation to offer information on hobbits and perhaps learn something of dwarves in return. "We pray to the Green Lady, Yavanna, and to Eru, of course. Who do the dwarves pray to?"

"The Maker," Óin replied tersely, a bit more than put out by just how _open_ the hobbit was about their customs. "That's all you need to know, lad. I will say that if you choose to pray to one of them in particular, pray to the Green Lady. She may be more help to us than Eru." Bilbo wanted to ask why the Green Lady would be of more use than Eru, but refrained from doing so, knowing that he would receive no answer from that particular dwarf but making a mental note to ask Bofur or Kíli later as they might be more inclined to answer his question. But for the time being he would say no more on the subject.

Little did Bilbo know that Óin was of the same mind, at least as far as being done with the conversation went , and for a time they lapsed into silence. Neither of them felt that it was uncomfortable, merely the silence of two people working singularly on a united project.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Across the great lawn of Beorn's homestead another pair sat in a silence yet this one was nowhere near as companionable. Where the first silence was relieved by the occasional exchange over the worth of a random plant, this one was only broken by the sound of laboured breathing; a sound that only made the already tense atmosphere that much worse. Just as they had the night before, Fíli and Kíli sat watching over their uncle, only unlike the night before, there was no camaraderie here. They were together, united in their wishes, but they may as well have been on opposite sides of Arda. While they both wanted to be where they were, they had no desire to be there under those circumstances or with the other.

 For his part, Fíli was conflicted. He wanted to leave, to have space to sort out his thoughts after the last few days, but he knew that he _had_ to stay. His place was there. He _needed_ to hear for himself that his uncle was still alive, that there was still a chance he could offer the forgiveness he'd denied Thorin before the end came. He felt selfish for his desire to do so. While he knew that it would ease his uncle's mind to hear it, he also knew that it was more for his own peace of mind. If his uncle died without knowing that he understood . . . he would never be able to live with himself if Thorin died believing that Fíli hated him and didn't see him as kin.

Knowing that his offer of forgiveness was motivated purely by a selfish desire for peace, he'd tried to turn to his brother for a distraction but had found that he was not ready to talk to Kíli. Not like that. Though he knew that it was petty of him in light of Thorin's condition and Kíli's own injuries, Fíli still couldn't let go of the anger he'd felt towards his brother at the eyrie and the guilt from it was twisting uncomfortably within him, urging him to apologize for being cross earlier but every time he tried to give voice to the words they stopped. Even as the majority of his being chided him that he was being foolish and should just apologize to his brother, some small spark within him refused. Just _once_ he wanted Kíli to be the one to make peace. Just this once. He tried to convince himself that Kíli owed it to him, that he'd been out of line and that he _needed_ to apologize, but the reasoning felt almost hollow to him. He couldn't even bring himself to believe it, how could he expect Kíli to? Kíli who was never accountable to anyone for anything.

Little did he know, Kíli was thinking along a similar line as he sat across Thorin's cot from Fíli pretending to fletch arrows while surreptitiously sneaking glances at Fíli. He could tell by the way that Fíli's lip twitched that he was still angry about what had happened earlier, but he couldn't bring himself to care and that knowledge felt like a stone in his gut. He knew that he _should_ care that he'd upset his brother but he didn't. After all, what right had Fíli had to attempt to tell him what he was capable of. He knew himself better than Fíli knew him, didn't he? He felt bad that he'd hurt his brother's feelings after the Eagles dropped them by the carrock but he felt that he was right in what he'd said and refused to apoligize for it. It wasn't like Fíli would understand anyway. No one ever doubted what _he_ was capable of. Even if he tried to explain to Fíli why he'd reacted the way he had, he knew his brother _could_ never understand. And if that was true, then what was the point in explaining it?

They were still sitting there, pointedly not looking at one another, what felt like hours later when Balin walked up.

"Any change in him, lads?" he asked in a hushed voice, almost as if he were afraid of waking their sleeping kin.

"None," Fíli said shaking his head sadly just as Kíli perked up and said, "He's moaning less. That's a good sign, right?" Balin sighed unsure which of the brothers had the right of it before deciding to answer Kíli's question. Wishful thinking or not, the lad deserved the truth.

"We can't know," he said honestly. "It could be a good thing, signaling that his fever is dropping and he's regaining control of himself."

"Or?" Fíli prompted when it became clear that Balin had no intention of finishing his statement.

"It could mean that he's losing the strength to moan as his body loses the fight," Balin finished.

"Well which is it?" Kíli demanded.

"We don't know, Kíli," Fíli snapped exasperatedly. "Balin just said as much. If you were even _pretending_ to listen you would know that."

"He still might have an opinion on the matter," Kíli retorted. "It never hurts to ask."

"It does when the question's already been answered," Fíli snarled, feeling his temper, which had been dormant since he'd nearly lost Kíli, come to the surface. "What good does it do you to ask it again?"

"Sometimes the answer changes," Kíli replied.

"Only if you're a spoiled—"

"LADS!" Balin snapped over them. When they were both silent once more, Kíli looking bored and Fíli alternating between shooting searing glares at his brother and apologetic glances at Balin, he continued.

"While I understand that tensions are high," he began looking between the two of them and forcing back the voice in his mind that whispered that he was lecturing the dwarf that would soon be his king, "this is neither the time nor the place for this behavior. You both need rest. Now go get it."

"But Balin," Fíli began just as Kíli said, "Uncle—"

Balin cut them both off by raising his hand and his voice, "I will take care of Thorin for a bit. I assure you I am quite capable."

"But—" Kíli began.

"I'll wake you if there's any change," Balin promised. "But neither of you are any good to him at each other's throats. Rest." Fíli sighed but stood and left the room as he'd been told. Kíli, however, glared at Balin for a moment, testing his resolve on the matter, and only conceded when he saw that Balin would not back down. Only then did he, too, stand and stop from the room.

"What are we going to do with them?" Balin sighed as he picked up the cloth that Fíli had left and began running it gently across his cousin's sweaty brow. "I don't know if you can hear me, Thorin, but if you can you'd better fight this. Those lads of yours still need you, not to mention the rest of us. We've lost too many kin already as it is. You can't die just yet. The world's not ready to go on without the great Thorin Oakenshield. Fíli's not ready. You can't leave him yet. Fíli _needs_ you. Perhaps even more than Kíli does."

"Oh," Balin scoffed suddenly. "I don't know why I'm talking to you. It's not like you can hear me but I might as well talk to you. It's not like anyone else is listening to me anyway. Leastwise your nephews." With a sigh Balin paused to redampen the rag. As he did so, he took a moment to watch his cousin's face, looking for any sign of recovery but he saw nothing. Thorin was just as he had been since their rescue; he grimaced, moaned, and writhed but there was no lucidity to it, no sense.

"Please," he whispered. "Don't die." A small corner of his mind whispered that he should direct that as a prayer to the Maker, but the greater part of him scoffed at the idea. He'd been praying to the Maker and pleading for things to go correctly since they'd first embarked on the quest and that had clearly gone unanswered. No, Mahal was a deaf to his pleas as Thorin was. He might as well talk to someone he could actually see.

 


	42. Nightmares and Traditions

Little did Balin know, Thorin wasn't deaf to his words. He'd heard them all. In fact, he'd heard most of what had been said since he'd lost consciousness. Even if none of it had made any sense to him in his delirium. Or at least not any kind of sense that his waking mind would recognize. Words, images, times and places all swirling together and through one another with no respect for order. There was only one thing everything agreed on; Thorin was useless.

Even hearing Balin's words, he couldn't see why _anyone_ would need him alive. Not after he'd had all of his failings laid out before him at the same time. His mother's charred corpse—if only he hadn't skipped lessons to go into the woods with Balin that day, perhaps his father would have been able to get her out of the mountain—his grandfather's head—he should have been faster—Frerin's broken body—he should have been beside him. No. He couldn't see why anyone would need him, least of all the two that Balin had said did. There was no way that Fíli or Kíli could need him. They were dead.

Of all the corpses laid before him, these two broke his heart the most. They were his _nephews_. As good as his own children and unlike the others, it wasn't his inactions that had killed them. No. _He_  had killed them.  Even as his mind tried to make excuses, he knew that there were none. He had done it. Nothing could make up for that.

All the same, he couldn't help it. He could have _sworn_ that the hands on him were the clawed paws of orcs. He'd drawn his sword and fought free only to see that the blood on that coated his hands and dripped from his braids and filled his nostrils was crimson. Not black; crimson. His own blood froze in his veins as he turned to look at the bodies.

"No," he breathed dropping to his knees.

But no matter how much he wanted to deny it, there was no way he could. Right there before him, lying in their own blood were his nephews. Kíli, on his back eyes close in a grimace of pain even in death while another body, this one with golden braids, lay atop him in a failed attempt as a shield. Thorin didn't need to see the face to know who the dead dwarf was. Only Fíli would remain and shield his brother even to his own demise.

Even if he knew who lay there, some part of him still _needed_ to see for himself that Fíli was dead, that there was nothing he could do to save him. He _had_ to see what he had done to his nephews. It was only when he reached out with hesitant hands, nearly afraid to touch the body of his nephew for fear of hurting him if he was still living, and shifted the cold, limp form from atop him that he realized Kíli still drew breath.  One glance at his injuries, the deep wounds across his middle, blood and bowel spilling forth, told Thorin there was no chance for Kíli. Fíli's sacrifice for Thorin's sake had been for naught. With a soft sob, Thorin pulled his eldest nephew's limp corpse against his chest, the broken pieces of his heart shattering further at the chill of death emanating from his skin and the way his head lulled unnaturally. In an attempt to fix one of those things, Thorin threaded his fingers into the golden mane that had caused such needless hurt and cradled his nephew to him like a babe.

"I'm so sorry," he croaked into the blood-stained strands. "I'm a fool. Such a fool." There was so much more he wished to say. But more than that, he wished that he could turn back time. Make it so that his mistakes never happened. So that he never hurt his nephew, but he knew that was not possible. His nephews, as good as sons, were dead and he'd done it. Nothing could change that. As he knelt there in their blood praying he was dreaming, he heard the worst sound he'd ever heard in his life: the anguished cry of a mother whose child lay dead before her.

It was a sound he'd heard before--the fall of Erebor, the battle of Azanulbizar, the long years of their exile--but, while it had pained him to hear it, never before had it frozen his very blood in his veins. Never before had it been _his_ sister , never had it truly been his fault (however much he had blamed himself for every loss).

He didn't even attempt to defend himself from her rage as she rushed through him, but vengeance was not yet on her mind as gathered her dead, golden son into her arms. Though his throat burned to offer her an apology or an excuse, he held it in knowing that it would mean nothing to her. So, he sat in silence as she buried her nose in her favorite son's hair, her own falling forward so that brown and gold entwined as her grief filled the air. Even as it pained him more than any mortal wound ever could, he could not bring himself to look away. Even as she opened her eyes without lifting her cheek from his head and stared at Thorin with eyes filled with tears, hatred, grief and blame, he couldn't look away. Nor when she broke away and looked down at her youngest son, moving so that his head rested in her lap and stroking his hair back from his pale, sweaty face with the arm that wasn't cradling Fíli—who was now no more than a toddling dwarfling—to her chest.

"Hush," he heard her whisper, the words nearly lost in her tears as she attempted to comfort her only remaining son in his last moments on this earth. "Hush. It will all be over soon, Darling." Kíli said nothing, but only let out a small moan and clutched at her petting hand as one might the edge of a great precipice—all white knuckles and desperation—before a pained groan passed his clinched teeth and his body arched in an attempt to escape the pain.

"Hush," she repeated, brushing away the tears that had leaked from his eyes while doing nothing to stem the flow of her own. She also made no move to stop him when his grip on her arm tightened so that his nails drew wells of crimson that flowed freely down her arm to drip into and mingle with Kíli and Fíli's blood already covering the ground.

**ooOO88OOoo**

After Balin shooed them away like dwarflings, Fíli found that he could not stand the thought of being under the same roof as his brother at the moment, regardless of how large that roof was.  As tempting as the thought of a rest _was_ , the thought of a bit of solitude was more tempting yet. He hoped that it was still light outside because, foolish request or no, he would not break the rules their host had set. He was both relieved and hurt when no one challenged him on his way to the door. Especially when he noticed that within seconds of his brother appearing, he was taken aside by Bofur. Tamping down the flare of jealousy that once more Kíli was the one they preferred, Fíli pushed open the door and walked into the late afternoon sunlight.

He stood in Beorn's porch for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the increased light, before he stepped off and began making his way towards the giant apple trees.  Once he reached them, he dropped to the ground against the trunk of the nearest with his back towards the great house. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the tree allowing the familiar scent of apple to fill his nostrils. He idly wished that it was autumn and they were in season because an apple sounded delicious. He wondered if there would be apples this fall either. He doubted Erebor had orchards. Or gardens for that matter. If there were fruits or vegetables to be had they would be scarce. He only hoped when it was all said and done that he'd have enough gold to purchase them. As good as it was, he grew sick of a diet of mostly meat.

A sudden sound to his right startled him and he sat up reaching with his left hand for one of his daggers only to see nothing there except for an apple the size of his head. It was a beautiful green color, just like the ones back home, and his mouth watered at the prospect. He reached out to grab it only to pull back with a hiss as the dull ache in his hand sent a sharp spark of pain up his arm at the motion. With a growl of frustration, he rolled onto his right elbow and reached across himself for the apple with his left hand. A triumphant smirk lit his face as he pulled it back to him and settled back against the trunk. He rubbed the apple on the side of his pants briefly before lifting it and biting through the green skin only to spit out the bite. The apple was still unripe despite its size.

A foul litany of curses—the kind that he would usually have been ashamed to say—left his mouth as he threw the apple from him where it bounced off the tree with a satisfying thunk. He angrily tried to push his hair that had escaped from the clip back from his face and another curse sprang forth as the pain in his broken hand flared to shocking life. What had been a dull ache since it had been set, with the occasional spark of pain, was now fire flaring in his veins once more. Without thinking about it, his left hand began scrabbling at the bandages, desperate to relieve the pressure, but he couldn't find the release. Nearly desperate, he redrew the dagger and angled it to cut through the wrappings.

"I told you I heard someone," Bilbo said just as Óin demanded, "What do you think you're doing, laddie?"

"I need it off," Fíli said desperately. "It . . . just get it off."

"Alright," Óin promised, "I'll get it off. Just put down the blade. Don't want you cutting either of us by accident." Fíli nodded and put it away while Óin set down his basket of herbs and came to kneel beside his young cousin.

The healer tutted as he looked the bandages over. They were far too loose to be doing their job, having been tied when the hand was still swollen and not having been readjusted when the swelling went down. He felt a twinge of guilt for having not seen to Fíli sooner. Especially when he took in the way the fingers were spamming and realized that the bones had at least attempted to slip out of place once more. Fearing the worst, a complete rebreak, he unwrapped Fíli's hand. It didn't look as though they bones had separated, but he couldn't be certain without feeling.

Despite thinking it was what he'd wanted, the removal of the bandages did nothing to alleviate the pain. His hand still throbbed in time to his pulse. Only the knowledge that it would only make it worse kept him from grabbing it in a attempt to press away the pain.

"Be right back," he said rising to his feet and walking towards Bilbo. "I just need to get some herbs from the hobbit's basket." Once there, he began rummaging in Bilbo's basket before leaning in towards the hobbit's ear.

"Distract him," Óin said to Bilbo in what was clearly meant to be a whisper but was far too loud and carried to Fíli easily. "Even with this willow bark, it's going to hurt. See if you can take his mind off it." Bilbo nodded and moved to sit beside Fíli while the older dwarf handed him the strip of bark.

"Chew it," he ordered. The young heir nodded and obediently popped the bark into his mouth and began chewing. It tasted earthy and made his mouth tingle but still he continued chewing. He closed his eyes and tried to feel if there was a difference. He opened his eyes at the sound of his cousin clearing his throat only to see the older dwarf leveling a meaningful glare at the hobbit.

"Oh, right," Bilbo said. "So, um . . . how has your day been so far?" He heard Óin sigh at the question and mutter loudly to himself " _wonderful_ thing to ask the lad."

"I've had better," Fíli replied with a bitter laugh.

"But you've had worse as well," Bilbo added before mentally kicking himself. "Of course you have," he added quickly. "I mean . . . I was there when . . . I mean I saw . .. Oh! I'm sorry," Bilbo finally decided on when he saw there was no way to truly salvage the situation.  

"It's fine, Master Baggins," Fíli said with a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. "There's not really a safe topic for small talk between us i—" he cut off with a gasp as Óin began manipulating his hand. "Is there?" he ground out attempting to focus on the conversation rather that the fire flowing up his arm.

"I suppose not," Bilbo sighed. "After all, you can't ask about my family as I have none and I can't . . . and it's not like we could trade notes of the differences in our cultures, not with how secretive you dwarves are. Now hobbits, we'll tell you whatever you want to know, or at least as much as there is to know."

"Is that so?" Fíli asked taking Bilbo's pause for breath as an opportunity to speak.

"Of course!" Bilbo huffed. "I don't understand what the point of all this secrecy even _is_."

"I . . .I'll make you a deal," Fíli offered, pausing to breathe through his teeth to keep from crying out as his cousin ran a finger gently across the back of his hand. "T-tell me something of hobbits and I will tell you why we're secretive. Or at least as much as I can," he amended as the older dwarf cleared his throat.

"What would you like to know?" Bilbo asked, prepared to tell the young heir whatever he desired.

"Tell me," Fíli managed before a hiss that was nearly a sob forced its way up his throat. "Tell me why you live in the ground if you love the sunlight and flowers so."

"That's an easy one," Bilbo replied witha small smile. "The tradition began because our histories say that our Mother is the Mother of the earth and all things that grow. We grow the flowers to honor Her and live in the earth in hopes of keeping it alive and fertile by living our lives within it."

"If it's so important to your beliefs then why do some of you live in houses?" Fíli asked.

"It's only a tradition," Bilbo shrugged. "It's not as if it's a requirement that we _must_ follow. Now it's mostly a preference anyway. I doubt if you asked the common hobbit in the Shire that they could even tell you why we do as we do. I only know because my grandfather, the Old Took, insisted on a well rounded education." At the dwarves' horrified expressions he felt that further explanation was needed.

"Besides, there is only so much land available under the hills," he continued. "People must live where they must. Even if they would _prefer_ to be underground, they will live above ground if that is where they can shelter their family. In fact, they will live on a second story if that is the only area they can. Anything is better than naught but sky above your head." He flushed slightly as he realized what he had just said to a group of people that had spent a good part of recent history living just like that, but it didn't matter. They were still preoccupied with his previous statement.

Fíli was the first to find his voice. "But if living underground is how you believe that you honor your Maker and keep your land fertile how can you do anything else? How can they stand to go against their ancient beliefs?"

"Because they're just that," Bilbo explained not understanding why this conversation had gone the way it had. He'd thought this would be a simple thing and they could move on, but clearly he'd been mistaken.

"I don't understand," Fíli replied, attempting to phrase it another way to get the answer he wanted. "If they are your sacred traditions how can they _not_ follow them?"

"Ah," BIlbo laughed seeing where they had gone wrong.  "They're not sacred. They are merely traditions that at one point had a root in our beliefs. Now it is simply how things have always been done. There's nothing sacred to them, save perhaps a bit of superstition. Such as living above ground level making children flighty while living underground makes them more rooted. Not that it helped me, mind."

"How can they _not_ be sacred," Óin demanded. "They are beliefs passed down from your ancestors given to them by your creator herself."

"Oh, I don't know that I believe all of that," Bilbo replied flippantly. "They come down the ages, for sure, but—"

"You don't believe your traditions were given to your people by your creator?" Fíli asked, flabbergasted that _anyone_ could say such a thing, especially someone he'd come to respect as he had the hobbit.

"No," Bilbo replied, wondering how things had gotten so complicated over such a simple topic as living preferences. "Do you?"

"Of course!" Fíli replied, his voice rising nearly an octave in his outrage. "Our Maker himself gifted us with our language and beliefs and they have come down the Ages unchanged in honor of that gift."

"Is that why you lot are so secretive about things like that?" Bilbo asked astonished. He'd never heard that about dwarves before and suddenly Bofur's worry over feeding him words in their language made more sense to him. Not only had he broken the law, he'd broken sacred tradition in speaking it to an outsider.

"Aye," Óin answered for Fíli. "And that's all the more we'll say on the matter. Right, Lad?"

"Yes," Fíli replied dutifully, though it was clear from the curious glances he kept sending Bilbo that he wanted to continue the conversation. It intrigued him and was enough to keep his mind off his current troubles, even as his conscience twinged at the idea of breaking tradition and what his uncle and mother would think if they ever found out.   


He was so preoccupied with his new discoveries about hobbits that he was surprised when he felt his cousin pat his knee. He blinked once or twice before looking at his cousin and realizing that he was waiting for a reply.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't hear you. What did you say?"

"I said 'I'm done'," Óin said loudly. At that Fíli looked down and saw that his hand was rebandaged and laying in his own lap once more.

"Thank you," he said only to have his thanks waved away.

"It's my job, laddie," his cousin replied before gathering his basket once more. "Come, Master Burglar. We need to hang the herbs to dry if we mean to keep them." Bilbo nodded and attempted to rise to his feet only to be stopped by Fíli's left hand gripping the tail of his coat.

"Can't he stay for a bit?" Fíli asked. "I . . .I'd like to talk with him a bit more. Please." Óin eyed the young heir for a moment before sighing and taking Bilbo's basket from him.

"Aye, he can stay," the elder dwarf said. "As long as you promise that there'll be no more talk of our traditions with outsiders."

"I promise," Fíli said firmly. At that, Óin nodded and began making his way back to the house.

Bilbo bristled a bit at being spoken about as though he weren't able to make decisions for himself but before he could say anything, the deaf old dwarf had turned away and he knew that he would hear nothing. Sighing to himself and not wanting to waste his breath, he said nothing.


	43. Long Overdue Chats

As he left the room his uncle was in, Kíli was incensed at having been dismissed like a child. How could Balin _do_ that, just kick them both out. It wasn't as if they were doing any harm. But most of all he couldn't understand why _he_ had to be the one to leave. He hadn't been attempting to argue. _That_ had been Fíli. If Balin was going to kick either of them out it should have just been Fíli. While he wanted to believe that his uncle was going to recover, he also knew that there was a chance that he would not. His uncle deserved to have family by his side if he passed and thanks to Fíli's temper that might not happen now. 

He had half a mind to go and _discuss_ this fact with his brother but the moment he emerged from the room, he was stopped by a hand on his arm. He intended to turn and demand to be released, but  was never given the chance.

"Come with me, lad," Bofur was saying as he began dragging the younger dwarf towards the corner where he, his brother and his cousin had arranged their borrowed bedding. "We need to have a chat, you and me."  His mind quickly ran though ways that he could escape, but he could come up with nothing that wouldn't harm Bofur or make a scene so he resigned himself to going with the miner.

"Will this take long?" Kíli sighed. "I really need to—"

"Have a seat," Bofur  cut him off, nudging him towards the pile of blankets. "This will take as long as it needs to." With a sigh, Kíli dropped to the ground, his head going back with a gasp as the sudden movement flared pain along the bruises on his back. 

"Don't be so glum, lad," Bofur said taking the place in front of him and staring at the young heir in a way that made him feel uncomfortable. He shifted, feeling for some strange reason as if he was sitting before his mother waiting to be reprimanded for doing something he knew he was not supposed to do.

"So," Kíli began slowly, "what is it you want to talk about?"

"Your brother," Bofur replied, his face giving nothing away about his own feelings on the subject.

"What about him?" Kíli asked warily. He knew that the company had heard much in the last few days, but he wasn't sure just how much the miner knew about what had gone on before. It wouldn't surprise him if Bofur knew everything, more people than he'd even imagined could already did. But he didn't want to give away more than he needed to if Bofur didn't already know.  

"Life hasn't been fair to that lad," Bofur sighed. "He'd been given a hard mine to dig, he has. Losing your da so young and being Thorin's heir beside. . . no, especially with him not getting any of the privileges that come with such a burden. It's no secret that you lads went hungry as often as us common dwarves."

"Is this going somewhere? I know all of this," Kíli cut in. He knew how often they'd gone hungry, how many times they'd lied and said they were full just so their mother and uncle wouldn't feel bad when there wasn't enough. He didn't need reminded of it now.

"Aye," Bofur said, his soft expression hardening once more. "It was going somewhere but if you know all of this already I'll skip the wandering; why do you make it so hard on him?"

"Excuse me?" Kíli demanded. "Me, make it  hard on _him?”_

"Aye," Bofur responded, all traces of his good humor gone.

"How?!" the younger dwarf demanded. "How do you figure that?!"

"You don't see it, do you?" the elder asked, taking in Kíli's indignant expression with a sad shake of his head.  "Everything you've done to 'help' your brother since we fell into Goblin Town has gone awry. Just listen," Bofur said as Kíli opened his mouth to protest, "while we were down there every one of us knew what your brother was doing. It was plain as day that he was only doing what he was for your sake. The way he glanced back at you before he'd carry out a command . . . and you, you who claim to know him best, _you_ called him a traitor. That cut him deeper than anything else you could have done. And that when he was already feeling raw from what he'd done. It would have been less cruel to slit his throat and be done with it there than to say what you did."

"No," Kíli disagreed. "He wasn't that hurt by—"

"He was," Bofur said. "When the two of you _should_ have been seeking solace in one another you attacked him."

"It wasn't an attack," Kíli protested. "It was just words. And I was upset. He should have known better than to—"

" _You_ were upset?" Bofur cut in. "What about Fíli? Didn't he deserve to be upset after what had just happened? Was he supposed to ignore what you said because you were upset by what he'd been forced to do for you? No, lad, that was a low blow, no better than that cut on your face. And you'd better be glad that your mother didn't hear it. Even if Thorin would never have punished you for it, we both know your mother would have taken you to task. And she'd've been right to do it."

"She wouldn't have the right," Kíli snarled.

"She would and she should," Bofur replied, wondering if Kíli was truly so deluded as to think that everything he did was justified and that Dís would not take him to task for anything. He also could help but wonder if she ever had taken a switch to him. If she hadn't maybe it was time someone did; it really was too bad about the lads' father's passing. They were both in dire need of one.

"I'm not your father," Bofur continued. "In fact I've no relation to you, as you well know, and you'd better be glad that I'm not your kin."

"Why's that?" Kíli snipped.

"Because, even though you Longbeards clearly have a different idea of how to treat family, us Broadbeams know that kin's all you've got," Bofur said. "Especially a brother, or sister if you're lucky enough to have one. Even if everything else is gone, all the riches and gold and gems, nothing can take away family as long as you cling to it. I'd have thought that after everything your folks have been though that lesson would have been hammered into your skulls. But perhaps the line of Durin has a different idea of what family means that the rest of us."

Kíli wanted to yell, to tell him that he was wrong, that family was the only thing that mattered but he couldn't. Even if they didn't think he'd heard, he had. All the time that his mother and uncle had argued in the dark. He hadn't realized at the time that it was over Fíli but now it all made sense. All the times she'd threatened to take them and leave, his uncle's confessions about being responsible for Frerin's death, their grandfather abandoning his own children for a failed quest, all of them going off and leaving his mother alone on a doomed quest of their own.

The more he thought about it the less certain he became that his family knew the meaning of the word. Not with the way his cousins had stood by and allowed his brother to be neglected. Not that they were the only ones to blame. His mother had her own share of it and, much as he hated to admit it, so did he. How could he claim to be Fíli's brother when he hadn't realized just how much he was suffering? He  could yell and blame everyone else all he wanted, but there was no denying his own neglect of his brother's needs . . . Perhaps Bofur was right. Maybe the entire line of Durin did have a skewed view on family.

"You're right," he finally muttered.

"What?" Bofur asked as it had been a long enough time that he figured Kíli had not been listening to a thing he had said.

"We don't understand the meaning of family," Kíli clarified, his voice little more than a despondent whisper. "We never have."

"There's always time, lad," Bofur offered. "After all, no one's dead." They both heard the 'yet' that remained unsaid at the end of that sentence. Kíli nodded, promising himself that _this_ time he would follow through with his promise to himself. He _would_ make a conscious effort to be more supportive of Fíli. After all, it was highly possible that soon they would be the only family either of them had for a hundred leagues. And even if they made it to the end, there was still the possibility of a dragon waiting for them. Family may be the only thing they had in the world.

**ooOO88OOoo**

"Sorry about that," Fíli offered quietly. "You don't have to stay if you don't want to. I just . . . I'd like . . . you can go if you want."

"I'll stay," Bilbo replied, all of his anger at being traded like a commodity evaporating at that hesitant request. "Since we can't talk about our traditions, what do you want to talk about?"

"Can . . . can we just _sit_? Not talk about anything at all?" Fíli asked. "It's fine if you don't want to but I'd like it if you would just sit out here with me for a while."

"I suppose I can do that," Bilbo replied, surprised that a dwarf would want to spend the afternoon sitting under a tree and enjoying nature. Knowing now what the day would entail, Bilbo leaned against the tree, crossing his feet at the ankles before him and pulled his pipe from his pocket—how he'd managed to keep it through all the ruckus of the days before he wasn't sure but he was not going to question his good fortune.

It was only after he'd taken a few puffs and sent a couple of ill-formed smoke rings into the leaves that he felt the dwarf's eyes on him.

"I'm sorry," he said moving to dump out the pipe. "I know your uncle smokes and I assumed that you wouldn't mind. I should have asked."

"I don't mind," Fíli offered, stopping him from extinguishing the bowl. "And it's not just Uncle. Mother smokes, Kíli does, as do I. It's only that it smells different that the weed we smoke."

"That's only because it's the finest weed in all of Arda," Bilbo laughed. "Old Toby."

"In that case, may I?" Fíli asked, holding his hand out for the pipe.

"Of course!" Bilbo exclaimed, handing it to him and watching as the dwarf inhaled the smoke. As much as Fíli hated to admit it, the hobbit was right. The smoke was smooth, sweet almost, and earthy at the same time, lacking the harsh undertones that were present in traditional dwarvish tobacco. He held it for a moment savoring the flavors before exhaling it in a perfect ring.

"Wonderful," Bilbo said marveling at the formation. "But I believe I can do better, if I may?"

"Try if you wish," Fíli laughed. "The only one to ever best me at smoke rings was my uncle."

"But I believe I've had more practice than your uncle, my lad. Why I've been smoking for thirty years now," Bilbo laughed, taking another draw on the pipe to blow a ring of his own.

"Only thirty?" Fíli scoffed. "I've been smoking for forty and my uncle for a hundred and . . . oh, probably fifty." At that Bilbo coughed on the smoke he'd just inhaled. There was no way that Thorin had been smoking that long, nor Fíli. The lad couldn't be much older than thirty-three as it was. Just how young did dwarves begin smoking?

"A hundred and fifty years?!" he squeaked when he was able.

"Yes," Fíli said. "Give or take. He may have started a bit younger than that in Erebor. Or a bit later, I doubt tobacco was easy to come by during the Wandering Years."

"Just how old _is_ Thorin?" Bilbo gasped, wondering just how a dwarf could have been smoking for a 150 years and that be an average start.

"195," Fíli replied with a shrug.

"That old?" Bilbo asked, thinking again about what Thorin had been through in the past few days and marveling anew that he'd been able to endure it.

"It's not that old," Fíli defended. "It's not like he's nearing his _third_ century."

"Third century?!" Bilbo breathed feeling faint. "You're having one over on me, aren't you?"

"No," Fíli replied, his good mood evaporating at the talk of ages. "If this or nothing else kills him, Uncle can easily expect to see his 250th birthday and perhaps live beyond that."

"And I thought the Old Took did well to make it 130," Bilbo breathed. "How old are _you_ then?"

"I, I'm eighty-two," Fíli replied. "And an adult. Kíli, though he doesn't act his age, is seventy-seven and not yet an adult."

"And when do dwarves become adults, if you're one and Kíli's not," Bilbo asked, shocked at the idea of a seventy-year-old child.

"Eighty," Fíli replied matter-of-factly.

"Eighty?" Bilbo repeated to himself. He just couldn't wrap his head around how someone could still be a child in the eyes of the law when they would be a well-respected grandparent or even great-grandparent in his own people.

"I think there's still much I need to learn of dwarves," Bilbo muttered. Fíli laughed quietly at the words.

"I will tell you what I can," Fíli promised. "If you are willing to stay, that is."

"My dear lad," Bilbo said, feeling free to say so even though Fíli was older than him as he was also younger in a sense, "I wouldn't have you attempt to tread so fine a line for my curiosity's sake. We can sit here and talk of anything you wish or nothing at all. It is a fine day. So fine that it would be a shame to add tension when we can simply sit under these trees and enjoy one another's company."

Fíli looked at him for a moment as though seeing him for the first time. "You . . . you really mean that, don't you?"

"Of course," Bilbo replied, wondering why Fíli seemed so shocked at his statement. The dwarf seemed to mull this thought over for a bit, studying Bilbo's expression, searching for a lie in his eyes, before his shoulders relaxed and a small smile spread across his face.

"In that case, Master Baggins, I will show you how to properly blow smoke rings, if I may?" Fíli asked, holding out his hand for the pipe.

"Only if you drop the 'Master Baggins' nonsense," the hobbit replied with a laugh, handing his pipe to the dwarf. "If we will be sharing a pipe there is no need for such formalities. 'Bilbo' will do just fine."

"I will agree to that only if you will agree to call me by my name as well," Fíli replied. "No more of this 'Master Dwarf' nonsense, as you put it."

"Sounds fair enough," the hobbit agreed. "So, what do you say, Fíli? Will you have a contest with me?"

"Aye," the dwarf replied taking the pipe with a grin.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Thorin didn't know how long he sat there, listening to his nephew suffer and watching Dís attempt to ease his passing before—mercifully—Kíli ,too, passed into the Halls. Only then did she move to draw him into her arms as well, his body shrinking as she did until it was nothing more than a tiny babe that she cradled beside his brother. He watched as she placed a gentle kiss to both their brows, almost as if she was afraid of waking them, before resting her cheek on them, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.  After a moment she shifted and looked at him.

"Why?" she whispered, tears streaming from her sorrowful eyes as she clutched her dead children to her breast.  He knew there was no answer he could give that would assuage her grief, but he knew that he owed her some measure of an answer, no matter how paltry it was.

"I have no excuse," he muttered looking away from her accusing eyes. She gave a humorless chuckle at the words, as if she had expected no more, before another sob left her and she began humming and rocking her children as if trying to soothe them to sleep even as she knelt in their blood. He reached for them, even knowing there was nothing he could do, or perhaps because of that knowledge, as they slowly turned to stone before his eyes. The lines of his sister's grief becoming permanent fixtures in the stone, a perfect preservation of  her anguish down to the tears clinging to her lashes and rolling down her cheeks.

Over her shoulder, the ghostly image of a younger Dís holding a newborn dwarfling, the hair shifting between gold and brown, against her and smiling gently as she swayed and hummed to soothe it tortured him. Beside that, she sat holding the same changing child, its eyes alternating between startling blue and warm brown while its hair shifted as well, at arm's-length in her lap  and cooing back at it as it grinned and chirped in happiness. But  too soon these happy images faded leaving behind only the statue as an eternal monument to the suffering he had caused.

"As if they need me," he muttered to himself looking at all the bodies of his family spread out before him.  Suddenly Fíli's voice wafted to his ears.

_"Just . . . please don't die," Fíli whispered. "I . . . I know it's selfish of me but . . . I'm not ready. I need you to live. I . . . I can't be king. I can't rule. I . . . don't know what to do. I'll just make a mess of it, just like I have everything.  I know it's cruel and that it would probably be easier for you if you passed on. You've more than earned it but . . . please fight. Don't . . . don't leave me to this. I can't do it. Please. I can't do this on my own."_

"You're wrong, Lad," he replied to the air. "You don't need me. You could do it if you wanted to." Even as he said it, he knew that even if what he had said was true, he owed his nephew no less than to be there as long as he was wanted.

 _"I need you to live,"_ the voice said again. _Alright then, Lad,_ Thorin thought. _You'll have me._ No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than Fíli appeared before him, whole and unmarred, a gentle smile on his face and mercy in his blue eyes, with his hand extended in welcome. Thorin wasn't sure that the voice or the vision were speaking true, but if there was any chance that they were, that Fíli still loved him, still _wanted_  him, he couldn't let it pass him by.

Cautiously, half-expecting it to be pulled from his grasp, Thorin reached for his nephew's hand. The moment their skin touched, deep wounds etched themselves across his own skin, the suddenness of the pain stealing his breath from his lungs and preventing him from crying out. As he fought to catch his breath—even _breathing_ was agony—he smiled. Finally, he was receiving the agony he deserved for all the pain he had caused in his life. If this was the punishment he was to experience for all his wrongs he would embrace it. It wasn't as if he deserved to enter into the Halls after what he'd done. But no one had told him the Void would be so hot.

It was only when he felt a cool cloth wielded by a gentle hand brush his forehead that he realized something substantial had changed. Even though he'd interacted with others, he could not recall actually _touching_ anything or anyone in quite some time. He turned his head in an attempt to see who had the cloth, but all he saw was darkness.

"I wish you'd actually meant to do that," a familiar voice said softly. "I wish you'd just open your eyes and bat away the rag crossly and tell me you don't need coddled. But you're not going to, are you? Even if you open your eyes it won't be _you_ behind them, leastways not the you of now, will it?"

"Wh--"Thorin started to say but stopped as his breath rasped in his dry throat. He idly wondered how long it had been since he'd spoken or drank anything but pushed it away and tried again. "Who else would I be?" he rasped, forcing his eyes open and wincing as the light of a single candle struck them and shutting them sharply.

He heard a sharp curse and the sound of someone blowing out a candle and forced his eyes open once more. The dim light was more palatable and he was able to keep them open, taking in Dwalin sitting beside him in just his shirt and breaches. As he looked around more, he could see that the room they were in was on a scale that made him instantly think of Rivendell.

"Where are we?" he asked wincing as he attempted to sit up for a better look and pulled at the healing wounds that he was only remembering how he'd acquired.

"Beorn's," Dwalin replied. "Giant skinchanging friend of Gandalf. He's letting us stay here until you're well enough to move. "

"So long as he's not an elf," Thorin muttered laying back against the pillows and turning to face Dwalin. "How'd we get away from the orcs?" He could remember the feeling of being lifted into the air, but that made no sense at all.

"You're never going to believe me," Dwalin snorted. "We were picked up and rescued by giant _Eagles_."

"Eagles," Thorin scoffed, wincing as the move pulled the skin over his ribs. "You expect me to believe _that_?!"

Dwalin shrugged as if to say, 'it's what happened.' and Thorin shook his head, nearly unable to believe that they'd been lifted into the air and deposited elsewhere by Eagles. What were the odds of such a thing?

"And the lads?" he asked, fear filling his stomach that Fíli had actually carried out the plan that they'd concocted as his dream had said he had.

"Their fine," Dwalin replied.  "Dori's got a bit of a wound to his middle, Balin's got a cut on his arm, Bofur's head's been hurting him a bit and he's a mite temperamental but they're all resting up nicely." At the hard look he received Dwalin sighed.

"Physically your lads are fine," he finally said. "But . . . "

"But what?" Thorin demanded when it was clear that Dwalin was not going to say more without prompting.

"They're at one another's throats," Dwalin spat. "Kíli . . . I know he's your favorite but it's time I said something to you I should have said years ago. You've done those lads a disservice. _Both_ of them. And we let you do it." He took one look at Thorin's shocked face, still flushed from the fever in his veins, and laughed bitterly. As much as he wanted to get it off his chest, he knew that it had to wait.

"Now is not the time for this," he muttered.

"I can think of no better," Thorin replied shortly. "You wanted to say it a moment ago, clearly you've sat on it for some time and allowed it to fester or you would never have spoken to me in such a manner. So speak your peace and be glad that I'm too wounded to react to it as I most likely should."

"Fine," Dwalin replied harshly. "I was a _fool_ for standing by and doing _nothing_ while you degraded your nephew, _my_ _cousin_ , at every turn to the point the poor dwarf doesn't believe he can do anything right. For _watching_ while you praised and cosseted his brother to the point that the it's impressive that the lad can take a _piss_ by himself and not at all surprising that he has no regard for anyone but himself."

"If you saw so much," Thorin cut in, wounded by just how close to home the accusations came, "why did you never tell me."

"Dís," Dwalin spat her name like a curse. "Dís told me not to." Thorin was shocked by this revelation. Fíli was Dís' favorite. Everyone knew that. Why would she stop Dwalin from telling him?

"No.  W-why would she—" he began only to be cut off by the other warrior.

"I was there, Thorin," Dwalin snapped. "I was there the night after the incident with Fíli and the bow. I _saw_ what that confrontation did to you. How it broke you. Just as every little thing used to after Frerin's death. After she took you to bed, Dís came back and made me swear to her that I would never confront you about your treatment of your nephews."

"But—" Thorin squeezed his eyes closed. It made no sense. After all the times she'd threatened to leave with the lads . . . no. Dís couldn't have done that. Her children mattered more to her than anything else in this world. There was no way that she would have asked Dwalin to choose him over her son.

"You lie," Thorin growled. "I know my sister and she would never have—"

"She did," Dwalin cut him off, his pride stung at being accused of lying about something so important. "Dís swore me and Balin to secrecy. Why else would I have held my tongue all these years?"

Thorin was derailed with that argument. Dwalin was one of the most forward dwarves he knew; if he had disagreed with something it made no sense that he would remain silent unless something else forced it. He felt numb at the thought that his sister would have asked such a thing. Would have _betrayed_ her own son in such a way. Right on the heels of the numbness came anger. Anger at fate, anger at himself, anger at Dís, and anger at Dwalin.

Though there were a million questions he wanted to scream at his cousin—such as how he could have borne such injustice against his future king at the request of the lad's own mother and just where his loyalties actually lay—there were only two words that passed his lips.

"Leave me," Thorin ordered, his voice a low growl in the darkness.

"Thorin, someone needs to stay with you. You're still—"

"Leave," the king repeated, his tone leaving no room for disobedience. "Now. And do not come to me again before I ask for you."

"Thorin," Dwalin tried again."You can't be alone. Not yet. And you need to listen. It's not as if I did it just to do it. I only ever had your best interest in mind."

"Get. Out," Thorin snarled, rising painfully to one elbow and glaring at his cousin, betrayal radiating from every pore. "I would prefer to be alone that watched over by a . . . a _traitor_. You never had anyone's interest in mind but your own. Leave before I make it so that you never can."

"Fine," Dwalin growled, rising to his feet and throwing the rag back into the bowl of water, knocking it over and splashing it into Thorin's face, his own temper rising at being called a traitor by the dwarf he had sacrificed his principals for. "Sit in here alone and stew. Send away the only people who still care about you."

Thorin said nothing and continued to glare at Dwalin's back as the warrior stalked out of the room. Only once the door was slammed behind him did Thorin allow himself to fall back on his pillows, breathing shallowly through his nose in an attempt to ride out the waves of pain that assaulted him from his rash movements. When the tide of pain once more withdrew enough for him to think, the thoughts that came were nearly worse. For days now, when he thought about his sister, his only thought had been how angry she would be about what had befallen her children while they were in his care and how he would justify his actions to her when they came out. Now, now his chief thought was a question of how she would explain what _she_ had done to him.

Rather than apologize to her, now he planned to demand answers. All the times that she had threatened him for being inconsiderate of Fíli's feelings, even when Fíli himself showed no signs of having cared . . . now it all made sense to him. Yes, his actions had been wrong but, at least in part, her reactions had been colored by her own shame at her mistreatment of her own son. And she should feel shame. She may have done it for Thorin's sake, but she had betrayed her own child.

Of all the things that had come out in the last few days, Thorin—even with his paltry knowledge of his nephew—knew that learning that Dís had chosen Thorin over Fíli would destroy the lad. His belief in the infallibly of his mother . . . her choice would  . . . no, Thorin refused to think of the consequences of such a discovery.  Fíli could never learn of this. It would have to remain a secret. There were more than enough of them in their family and most of them for worse reasons. Fíli could _never_ know.

 _Please,_ Thorin begged to The Maker. _Please, never let Fíli discover his mother's betrayal._ As the prayer left his mind he followed it with a second thought, an ardent wish that, unworthy as he was, Mahal would grant him this one request when he had denied so many others over the years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long y'all. Babies really are time-sinks, but I suppose that's why we love them, right?


	44. Chopping Wood, Broken Bonds and Summer Dreams

As Dwalin stormed from the room Thorin was recovering in for the first time in his life he felt true resentment for a place to rest in peace for the night. After what Thorin had _dared_ to say to him, and for what he'd done for Thorin's sake to boot, he _craved_ a good brawl, even one where his life was on the line, to vent his frustrations. But that was impossible for the time being. They were safe— protected even, strange as that thought was—guarded by the ferocious reputation and formidable presence of their giant, skinchanging host. The part of him that needed an outlet wondered if he couldn't pick a friendly spar with Glóin before rejecting the idea. While a spar was tempting, the majority of him knew it would be a bad idea in his current state of mind. What began friendly enough would end with one of them injured. Especially with the complexity of the emotions swirling within him.  

 

Right alongside resentment was stirring another emotion he'd never experienced towards its target: disgust. He had felt many things for Thorin over the years —pride, trust, even pity—but now, for the first time ever, he felt true disgust towards his cousin. Even with everything laid out before him, his own failings spelled out in words and evidenced in both his nephews, he was too damned proud and pig-headed to admit it had been, at least partially, his fault. True, they all shared blame—Dís perhaps more than most—but no matter who should have or could have done or said this or that to stop it, the fact remained that all of them, including Thorin, were equally culpable. It was his continued refusal to acknowledge his responsibility, the way he kept blaming others for not stopping him rather than himself for having done it in the first place, that bred Dwalin's current disgust. Surely Thorin was not that blind. He _had_ to have realized what he'd been doing.

 

Needing to vent his anger and regain control of himself once more, he stalked out the door, hoping Beorn at least had a woodpile in need of chopping. If so, then perhaps he might indulge in picturing each log as his cousin's arrogant face. A part of his mind whispered that those thoughts bordered on the treason he'd been accused of, but he ignored it. After all, he would never do such a thing for real, and no one needed to know what went on inside his head. As he found the woodpile and began to calm, one thought remained; Fíli had to be told the truth. He deserved to know and Dwalin vowed he would never be accused of keeping information from his king again. Even at the request of his kin.

 

**ooOOoo**

Balin watched his brother leave Thorin's room with a sinking heart. There was a tightness to his jaw, a stiffness in his movements, that betrayed the fact that something had upset him. When he stalked straight out the door without so much as a glance in their direction, Balin knew. Thorin Oakenshield was dead. With feet that felt heavier than boulders, Balin made his way to the room that housed the body of their fallen king. He was just beginning to wonder how to break it to the lads when he opened the door and saw not a dead dwarf, but a livid one.

 

The dwarf was lying on his back, his breaths still coming with far too much effort, but most important to Balin, they were still coming. He still wasn't certain what had caused his brother to storm out until his cousin looked at him. Thorin's blue eyes flashed like dragon-fire as he caught sight of his cousin but when he spoke his voice held nothing but ice. "I have only one question for you; why?"

 

"Why what, My King," Balin asked, sensing from Thorin's demeanor that familiarity would win him no support here, though he had no idea what had angered the other dwarf so.  

 

"Perhaps that's the answer," Thorin scoffed turning away for a moment before looking back at Balin with an expression the other didn't understand at all. "Is that why you choose me over Fíli? You, ever the pragmatist, chose your present king over the future one."

 

"What are you talking about?" Balin asked, a sinking feeling beginning in his stomach that Thorin knew something more than he ever should have. "I've never chosen one of you over the other."

 

"Have you not?" Thorin spat, his face twisting into a grimace of pain as he attempted to rise to an elbow before he laid back on his blankets and took a few shuddering breaths through his teeth, is hands baling up before he relaxed a bit once more.

 

"You're nearly as brazen as your brother," he continued, his words breathier than he'd meant but he just couldn't get the air behind them to hold the right amount of ire. "Perhaps more so as he didn't come in here and _lie_ to my face. Tell me, can you tell me truthfully that you did not agree to Dís' _outrageous_ plot to keep from challenging me on my treatment of Fíli." Balin shook his head sadly, seeming to shrink in on himself. He'd been right; Thorin knew.

 

"Dwalin told you," he eventually said.

 

"Yes," Thorin replied, his anger evportating now that his cousin was admitting to his wrongdoing, replaced only by a feeling of loss and a need to understand. "Why Balin? _Why_ would you agree to such a thing?" Balin sighed.

 

"There was no other way," he said eventually, moving to sit beside Thorin but making no move to touch him. "We had to have you and, poor excuse though it is, Fíli never complained. Until recently, we didn't see how much damage we'd done."

 

"And that made it acceptable?" Thorin asked, his tone showing his incredulity. "The fact that he didn't seem to care made it right to conspire with his own mother against the lad?"

 

"Don't take that tone with me, Thorin," Balin snapped, ignoring his cousin's position among their people and speaking to him as family. "Don't you dare! Not when none of this would ever have happened if it wasn't for _you_. You are at the root of the cause of this whole mess."

 

"So I _wanted_ us to be captured by goblins and for them to force my nephews to—"

 

"That's not what I meant and you damn well know it," Balin cut him off, his tone softening a bit as Thorin attempted to catch his breath again. Even if he thought it was, now was not the time for this conversation.

 

"Thorin," Balin sighed, not missing the lines of weariness on his cousin's face and knowing that even though he'd only just awakened once more, Thorin would need to rest soon if he expected to recover. "No one faults you for mourning your brother. His death was tragic and unexpected but it's been over a hundred years, Thorin. Why do you let it haunt you? And especially Fíli. He never even met Frerin and _still_ the poor lad has been haunted by his uncle's ghost. I understand that they have a certain resemblance—"  


"They don't," Thorin said suddenly. "Fíli looks nothing like Frerin did. He looks more like his father, with a bit of Dís mixed in." Balin looked at him in shock. The last he'd heard, Thorin's issues with Fíli came from his resemblance to Frerin, but if Thorin had realized this . . . perhaps it truly was over from Thorin's perspective.

 

"So, if you've come to realize that, there's only one thing left to figure out; what do we do now?" Balin asked, wondering just what Thorin's plan was to fix Fíli's issues.

 

"We?" Thorin asked, looking at Balin in confusion, his tone sharp once more. "There is no 'we' in this, Balin. You, Dwalin, Dís . . . everyone who was involved, have proved yourselves to be untrustworthy where Fíli is concerned. I have wronged him, that's true and I make no move to deny it, but I never consciously, _calculatingly_ , chose to do so. As far as I'm concerned, there is no longer a we, Balin. You and I . . . we're done. I can't trust you. Not given what I now know."

 

"What are you saying?" Balin breathed, knowing what was coming but needing to hear it all the same.

 

"I am saying that while I will honor our contract, you and I are done," he replied, his voice quite, weary but firm. "You have been my advisor for as long as I can remember but . . . I don't know what you meant to accomplish by undermining Fíli but I will not allow it to happen."

 

"There was no goal, Thorin," Balin argued. "No grand scheme. All we wanted to do was keep you sane. It was all for you. It wasn't as if we wanted to make it so that Fíli—"

 

"Get out," Thorin said sadly. "Leave," he ordered when Balin made to argue anew. At the new order, Balin stood and headed for the door. Once there, he stopped with his hand on the knob.

 

"It was all for you, Thorin," he said, still facing the door. "The tale I told Master Baggins was not a lie. That day, at Moria, I knew then that I could and would follow you as my king. Even through everything that followed, even now, know this; you are still the only dwarf I would travel to the ends of the earth for. Even as you come to doubt everything else, do not doubt my loyalty to _you._ "

 

"Go," Thorin bit out, not trusting his voice to say more. Once the door was closed once more, Thorin allowed his head to fall back on the pillow, his eyes open, staring up at the ceiling above as he fought for control of his emotions. Where his confrontation with Dwalin had left him livid, this one left him feeling gutted, hollow. He'd trusted them, his sister, his cousins . . . they'd all betrayed Fíli, and done it in his name. Never would he have asked them to do such a thing had he known and such a betrayal could not be rewarded, no matter the reason behind it. Loyal to him or not, things could not go back to how they had been. Thorin suddenly felt more alone than he ever had in his life. Everyone he'd thought to be trustworthy . . . there was no one left.

 

He wondered if that was how Fíli had felt his entire life, that there was no one he could trust, or if he, too, had been fooled into believing that he could trust his family. He was more certain than ever before that Fíli could not learn of this betrayal if he was to continue functioning. Though, he was also filled with doubt as to how good that choice would be. After all, hadn't he already proved that he was a terrible judge of what his nephews needed for their continued well-being? And hadn't this all come into being because of secrets? Perhaps it would be better to have it all out in the open rather than hidden away to strike at inopportune times.

 

Thorin closed his eyes with a sigh. It wasn't as if he would be doing anything until Fíli came to see him at any rate. Perhaps by the time that happened, Mahal would grant him guidance, though the Maker had been decidedly silent when Thorin had needed him most and the dwarf held no illusions that Mahal would show him the path this time either. No, at the end of the day, there would just be him, flawed and broken, attempting to right his own wrongs and make amends. The Maker cared nothing for the suffering of his children, not even those who had been punished for sins that were not their own.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Fíli wasn't sure what had pulled him from sleep, but he nearly resented it. He'd been having such a nice dream, he couldn't remember the particulars, but he knew that he, his mother, his brother and his uncle had been in it and they'd been happy. Then he felt it again, that insistent shake of his shoulder. With a groan he opened his eyes to see Bilbo's apologetic face hovering above his own.

 

"Sorry to wake you," BIlbo began, "but we need to be in before dark and well, it's getting on towards dark now. I wanted to let you sleep, seeing as you probably need it but—"

 

"Dark?" Fíli cut in, feeling panic well within him that through his sleeping and breaking their agreement he had also broken whatever friendship he and Bilbo had been developing. "How long have I been asleep?"

 

"Oh, an hour or so," Bilbo said with a shrug. "I suppose the story I was telling you _was_ a bit dull. I didn't even notice you'd drifted off until you began to snore. You must have been quite tired to sleep sitting up against a tree like that."

 

"I am so sorry," Fíli began, attempting to find a way to salvage what they'd had. "I can spend all day with you tomorrow to make up for sleeping when I promised to spend time with you this afternoon. That is, if you still want to spend time with me."

 

"Of course I do, my lad," Bilbo replied, uncertain as to why Fíli seemed so anxious when only moments before he had been sleeping quite peacefully in the dappled summer sun. "But surely you have something better to do tomorrow than entertaining an old hobbit."

 

"I. . . I don't," Fíli said softly. "Other than Kíli . . . well, I don't really have anyone else to spend time with. If you don't mind, that is."

 

"Of course I don't mind," Bilbo offered, not wanting the dwarf to feel obligated to spend the day with him when he knew that he had family that probably needed him more. "You are welcome to spend as much time with me as you'd like. Or if you'd rather spend it with your uncle, brother and cousins . . . well, then I'll find another way to occupy myself. "

 

"I understand," Fíli said sadly, seeing Bilbo's words as a polite rejection, but a rejection all the same. All the alternatives the hobbit was offering, Bilbo didn't want to spend time with him. "I'll leave you be. I'm sorry to have bothered you." That said, Fíli rose to his feet and began making his way back towards the house.

 

"I . . .what?" Bilbo called jumping up and chasing after him and grabbing his arm. "Bothering me? What makes you think you bothered me? I _enjoyed_ this afternoon."

 

"Y-you did?" Fíli asked, the first stirrings of hope stirring in him, even though he knew that by now he should know better than to trust so quickly but something about Bilbo's open green eyes . . . they didn't seem capable of hiding a lie.

 

"Best day I've spent since we left the Shire," Bilbo replied with an easy smile.

 

"Even better than Rivendell?" Fíli asked with a laugh, remembering just how pleased the hobbit had been with his first sight of the elven city and just how sad he'd been to leave it.

 

"In its own way, yes," Bilbo said, his smile turning wistful as he remembered the beauty and tranquility of Lord Elrond's domain. "Rivendell is beautiful, peaceful but so is this place. True, there's no great stonework or fountains but can you deny the wonder that is the power of these giant apple trees? And I can't deny that the company was better here than there."

 

For the second time that day, Fíli was shocked. "You really do mean that, don't you?" he asked again, his face showing his confusion that Bilbo had _truly_ enjoyed his company that afternoon, especially as he'd been asleep for a good deal of it, but there was no lie in the hobbit's eyes. He spoke the truth.

 

"I did," Bilbo agreed. "And I will be willing to spend an afternoon or more with you whenever you have the time or the inclination. However if you find that you have neither, well, I hope you don't lose the inclination but if you don't have the time . . . well, I can entertain myself. After all, I have spend many an afternoon alone over the years."

 

"Thank you," Fíli said, finding that those were the only words he could think of to express how he felt and that even they were vastly inadequate.

 

"Think nothing of it, my lad," Bilbo replied nudging his head towards the door once more. "Shouldn't we be getting in before anyone gets worried about you going missing and they send out a search party and get us all into trouble with our host?" Fíli didn't have the heart to tell the hobbit that the odds of them sending out a search party were slim to none, not wanting to ruin the mood or give Bilbo a reason to change his mind. Instead, he nodded and gestured for Bilbo to lead the way inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok all, again sorry about the delay but same excuse as always with an added twist this time. I don't even know how to put into words how disappointed I was with BotFA! I mean WTFH!!!!!!! I was kinda meh about it all the way up until the end . . . sort of but then I was like WHAT THE EFFING HELL?!?! Where was ANY of their Fíli coverage? I get that it is a movie with, arguably, thirteen main characters but STILL. And then that death . . . 
> 
> *****SPOILERS BELOW*****  
> HOW did they even THINK that was a fitting end for that particular character? Run through from behind while being dangled as live bait . .. I can't even . . . even after all the crap Thorin and Kíli pull in the movie they both get to at least . . . I don't know, at least an attempt at looking heroic rather than being drug out by their hair and having a sword run through them and being tossed aside like garbage. And Kíli . . . don't even get me started on the fact that he didn't even bother to CHECK if his brother was dead before running off. I guess . . . I don't know. I guess I wanted something hat felt a bit more . . . I wanted something that just decimated feels rather than leaving me going "that's it?" and then not giving me time to process a death. Then again I guess I can't complain too much that his death was a footnote, after all, it was a parenthetical honorable mention if my memory of the book serves. 
> 
> ***END SPOILERS****  
> So yeah, that also delayed this chapter's update since I lost a bit of the fire to write any of my hobbit fics almost in protest. (Which may be why there is no Kíli snippit in this chapter even though I'd originally planned there to be one . . . oh well, there's always the next chapter).
> 
> Until next time, which will hopefully be quicker,  
> Stickdonkeys


	45. Decisions and Vows

Though he was thinking on how to finally prove to his brother that he could be supportive, Kíli couldn't take his eyes off the door to the room his uncle was resting in. Repeating in his mind was one thought; Dwalin had stormed out. There was only one thing that could lead to that and his mind refused to entertain the idea for more than a fraction of a second so he returned to his original thought in an attempt to find another alternative. There was no way that his uncle could be dead. Something else had to have happened to drive his cousin away. It was that hope that he was clinging to from the moment Dwalin had come out.

A hope that was destroyed as Balin, too, stepped out of the room, leaning against the door with a mournful look on his face before his hand came up and blocked it from view. Dwalin, perhaps, he could have found another reason for but both of them. No, there was only one reason for both of them to be so upset. And judging by the solemn yet comforting way that Bofur patted his shoulder, the miner knew it too. Standing and walking towards his cousin with legs that felt like lead was one of the hardest things Kíli had ever done, but before it seemed possible with as slowly as he was moving, he was at the older dwarf's side.

"B-Balin?" he breathed, his cousin's name laced with so much naive wishing and pain that he was embarrassed to hear it come from his throat. The sorrow in Balin's dark eyes as he looked up hit Kíli like a physical blow. That one look and he knew. What he'd been denying was true. Even so, he had to ask.

"Is . . . is he . . ." he found that he couldn't finish that question. Even with the knowledge of his loss already beginning to carve a hole in his chest, he couldn't give voice to the loss.

"Dead?" Balin bit out. "No, lad. Thorin's _very_ much alive. And saying things he ought not say to people who . . . never mind, lad. He's alive. And awake." Kíli felt his heart swell at the pronouncement and couldn't stop his hand from going to the doorknob. It was only Balin's arm across his chest that stopped him from barging into the room.

"Give him a minute, laddie," Balin said softly, a sad note in his voice that Kíli had never heard before. "He's feeling a bit betrayed and crowded at the moment. You'd do best to let him cool off before you go in there."

"But," Kíli began, intending to say that his uncle would never feel crowded by him. Thorin loved him. Never once had his uncle been bothered by his presence, regardless of his mood.

"Trust me," Balin continued, cutting off his younger cousin's protests. Despite Balin's interruption, Kíli was about to argue that he knew his uncle well enough to guess when he'd be welcome but the words died on his tongue. He'd thought he'd known his brother too and hadn't seen just how much Fíli was suffering. Could he really be sure that he knew anyone?

"Good lad," Balin said, sensing the change in Kíli's mind and patting him on the shoulder before nudging him back towards Bofur. "Go sit with the others and wait for Fíli. You should go in together."

"Where are you going?" Kíli demanded as Balin made his way to the front door of Beorn's home.

"To find my own brother," Balin replied walking out and closing the door behind him. As Kíli moved back over to sit beside Bofur once more he couldn't help but wonder just what _had_ caused Dwalin to storm out the way he had if his uncle was still alive. He could only hope it wasn't something too bad. After all, the company couldn't afford to be at one another's throats. He and Fíli had proved that quite well. Thankfully nothing too terrible had happened as a result of their bickering, and hopefully what had happened was nothing that couldn't be reconciled. With that thought, he settled down once more to await the return of his brother.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Balin didn't have to go far to find Dwalin. He had barely stepped out the door when he heard a roar of rage that he knew to be his off to his right. Following the sound, he found Dwalin just around the side of the house, with an ax that was far too big for him above his head before coming down on the log with a crack that split the log clean through. He simply turned it before rising the massive ax once more and splitting the log-half in half again. He repeated it with the other half and subjected another log to the same treatment before he spoke.

"I suppose you came looking for me," he said as he set up another log.

"Aye," Balin agreed.

"And you've spoken to _him_ ," Dwalin snarled, his tone, while not appropriate for the person about whom he was speaking, left no doubt in Balin's mind as to who "him" was.

"Aye," Balin repeated. "We spoke. He . . . I think he may have banished me, actually."

"He did _what_?!" Dwalin roared, turning to face his brother, fury written in every line of his face and his grip on the ax more than a little menacing.

"Well," Balin said, the truth of his conversation with Thorin only just sinking in, "he told me that we were done. Said he can't trust me or anyone who would sabotage the future for the sake of the past." Though he spoke dispassionately, his mind was whirring, trying to figure out what he would do and where he would go if Thorin never changed his mind. Erebor, Ered Luin . . . they would both be out of the question. Moria? No, while not _strictly_ under Thorin's domain, reclaiming it would be a suicide attempt. He jumped as a hand came down on his shoulder.

"Balin," Dwalin said, his tone making it clear that he had called his brother's name more than once. "Are you alright?"

"Sorry," the older dwarf said, shaking his head. "I just . . . I'm thinking. Trying to decide what I should do."

"There's only one thing we can do," Dwalin said. "Fíli has to be told. Everything. We put it off this long to see of Thorin would survive but . . . well, he's going to make it. Fíli needs to know." Balin closed his eyes. As much as he knew that his brother was right, that Fíli _deserved_ the truth, he also couldn't banish Kíli's warning that the truth would break him. As much as he wanted to ignore them, Thorin's words about wondering what their motivations had been rang in his ears and made him wonder if telling Fili the truth was truly in the lad's best interest or in theirs, whether their urge to tell him was an attempt at serving their own consciences or seeing to his well-being.

"What of Dís' involvement?" Balin asked, his tone showing his reluctance to reveal that particular bit of information. Even if the truth of his cousins' involvement needed to be told, it seemed cruel to tell the lad that it had been orchestrated by his own mother.

" _Everything_ ," Dwalin replied firmly. "I won't be accused of keeping more secrets. Or of failing that lad again. He _needs_ to know, Brother." Balin closed his eyes and heaved a deep sigh before looking at Dwalin, his eyes weary and his shoulders slumped as though he were twice his age.

"When?" Balin asked, his tone one of a dwarf defeated.

"Tomorrow," the younger replied. "We'll give him tonight to rest and tomorrow we will tell him of our part in it and hope for the best." Balin nodded but said nothing. He was far less optimistic than his brother was. After all, they had been hoping for the best from the start of the quest and if what had happened was the best he hated to think on what the worst would have been. He could only pray that perhaps, finally, their luck had changed. If not, he failed to think what would happen tomorrow.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Kíli wasn't sure how long he waited for Fíli to return, but eventually the door opened and Bilbo walked in followed by Fíli.

"Wish me luck," he muttered to Bofur before forcing himself to a standing position and making his way across the room where his brother and Bilbo stood talking just inside the door. As he watched his brother smile at something the hobbit said, the thought crossed Kíli's mind that he'd never seen Fíli so relaxed in his entire life. It hurt more deeply than he could have imagine possible when his brother's entire body tensed at the sound of his voice. No matter what Bofur'd thought, the wary look in Fíli's blue eyes alone told him the matter was hopeless.

"Fíli," he said, trying to find the right words to convey his epiphany and feeling his throat close around them leading to his brother's name being little more than a strangled puff of air.

"Kíli," Fíli greeted him, nodding his head stiffly, a tension in his face that had never been there between them before. As calm as he'd been with Bilbo, even the sight of his brother was enough to bring back all the frustration he had felt before he'd been sent out of his uncle's room. It was clear from his brother's stilted greeting that he was still irritated with him. It was on the tip of his tongue to demand to know what Kíli wanted when his brother spoke once more, answering the question for him.

"He's awake," the younger said, not bothering to clarify who he was speaking of.

"When?" Fíli demanded, his irritation with Kíli vanishing underneath his relief that Thorin wasn't not dead.

"An hour, maybe more," Kíli replied with a slight shrug. "I'm not actually sure. I didn't even know that he was awake until Dwalin stormed out and Balin came out." While part of Fíli's mind registered that it was an odd way to find out someone was awake and wondered how those things could be connected, the rest of him was occupied with the desire to see it for himself. Not that he didn't believe Kíli—even he wouldn't lie about something like that—it was just that the last time he'd seen his uncle, Thorin had been in the throes of fever dreams. Though made of sterner stone that the other races, even dwarves were not immune to infections. However, one thought did make its way from his mind to his throat.

"You haven't been in to see him?" Fíli asked, his incredulity coming through in his tone in a way that stung slightly.

"I wanted us to go together," he said, looking at his brother with an expression that Fíli didn't quite know how to interpret. "Or if you'd rather go alone first, I will follow. You . . . you deserve . . . I'm sorry." He paused and looked at Fíli with such regret that his brother realized exactly what it was that he was seeing; remorse.

"I'm a fool," Kíli continued. "You and mother have said it often enough but only now do I really understand how much of a fool I've been. And . . . I'm sorry. Sorry I didn't see how much . . . sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me. And sorry that I dared to call myself your brother when I couldn't even see how you suffered or what you were willing to endure and sacrifice for me. I've been . . .  there aren't words to say how bad I've been to you, or at least not any that I know.

"And I know I've said all this before only to be a fool again but this time I mean it," Kíli continued, grasping Fíli's good hand in both of his. "Please, I don't expect you to forgive me just because I ask it but, can't we try? Try to, not go back to how things were because even though I was happy and naive then you weren't, but . . . can't we try to be brothers now? To learn more about one another and be what we always should have?"

"I do know you, Kíli," the blonde brother replied with a sad shake of his head. "I know that at the moment you are feeling sentimental, but just like with all of your projects, if this doesn't go the way you want you'll grow bored of trying. It's just the way you are. You try and when it proves too difficult you give up and slip back into what you've always done. You always have."

"Not this time," the younger argued. "This time I mean it, Fíli. I want to—"

"You always mean it _this time_ ," Fíli said softly, his eyes holding no hostility but rather a sad resignation. "Don't misunderstand. I know that you have good intentions _now_. But tomorrow? The next time you're tired or hungry or frightened? What about when I decide not to do what you suggest? Where will your good intentions be then?"

"Fíli?" Kíli breathed, wondering how his brother could stand there, calm as if he were discussing the weather, and refuse to even think about what he was saying before he realized that he didn't have to wonder. How many times since Goblin Town had he told Fíli that he was going to make an effort only for it to fall apart at the first snag?

"I'm sorry," he whispered again, unable to look at his brother in the face of his own failures as a sibling.

"Don't be," Fíli responded with a bitter laugh, walking towards their uncle's room. "I've come to expect it from you. With all this chaos it's been nice to have something stay the same."  Kíli said nothing. It left him feeling sick that the only constant in his brother's life lately had been that he knew Kíli wouldn't keep his promises. That, more than anything else, solidified his resolve. He would prove Fíli wrong in this. And even if Fíli never trusted him again, he would be there the moment he was needed. Fíli would _always_ have him to lean on, if he wanted him, that is.

It was with that determination burning in his veins that he followed his brother into their uncle's room. He wasn't sure what mood his uncle would be in, or what state his brother would be in when they were done with their discussion, but he would do his best to keep either of them from saying things they ought not to. After all, there were more than enough regrets in the family. As Fíli paused to take a deep breath before opening the door Kíli made a vow to himself and Mahal; _never_ again would he give his brother cause to doubt him and may the Maker strike him down if he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So . . . I suppose I'm over it all now. I was feeling a bit melodramatic at the end of the last chapter and, while still disappointed in the mess sometimes known as the Battle of the Five Armies, I never meant to give anyone the impression that I was done writing in this fandom. I apologize profusely to anyone who though I was throwing in the towel. This update was delayed by time constraints and not me being a prima dona. I swear. (See, it was even a Kili-rich chapter) :) I do hope it was worth the wait :)


	46. A Plan and Depth of Injury

No sooner had Fíli and Kíli disappeared into their uncle's room than Balin and Dwalin returned from outside. The elder brother still appeared shaken, his eyes distant and his mind clearly still working on contingency plans if Thorin's ire didn't blow over, and the younger still showing a tension that spoke of anger, despite his physical exertions. Without pausing, they walked to where Glóin sat beside his brother. Both of them looked up in question at their cousins' grim expressions.

"Tomorrow," Balin said, his voice grave and holding a note of finality. "Thorin's going to live. We'll tell Fíli everything tomorrow."

"Are you sure it's for the best?" Óin asked softly.

"No," Balin replied. "It may be for the worst, but it has to be done all the same. The lad— _he_ deserves to know."

"Tomorrow then," Glóin agreed. He knew that it was selfish of him, but he couldn't help but wish that he could find somewhere else to be tomorrow. While he didn't disagree that his cousin deserved the truth, he wasn't certain that he wanted to be there for the inevitable heartbreak it would cause for him to learn how many had not spoken for him sooner.

"Balin," Óin asked, knowing the answer but needing to hear it all the same, "everything?"

"Everything," Balin agreed. The healer nodded sadly. It only made sense that if they were going to tell him anything it would be everything.  "And lads, Thorin knows."

"Everything?" Glóin asked, wondering if he knew of Dís' involvement as well but not wanting to say anything aloud in case there were ears present that were unaware and had no need to be aware of what had transpired.

" _Everything_ ," Balin repeated, his expression answering their unasked question as to how well Thorin had taken the news. They all knew now that they could only hope his temper healed before his body, otherwise, they could only hope Mahal allowed dwarves such as themselves into the afterlife because they knew Thorin would see to it they arrived there himself.

**ooOO88OOoo**

As they entered the room, it appeared that Balin had been mistaken about their uncle's waking. He looked the same as he had the last time they'd seen him. His eyes were still closed, his face pinched and his breathing far too labored for their comfort. Other than the fact that the bright flush was gone from his cheeks, nothing in the room seemed to have changed.

"I thought you said he'd woken up?" Fíli asked, turning to his brother in confusion.

"Balin told me he had," Kíli replied, holding his hands out as if asking what his brother expected of him. "I told you I hadn't been in here yet. I was waiting on you."

"Well Balin must have been wrong," Fíli said with a shrug before resuming his place beside his uncle. Without looking too closely he reached for the rag to wipe his uncle's brow, more than a little irritated that no one had been taking care of him in their absence, only to find that the rag was dry, as was the bowl.  With a disgusted sigh he rose once more and moved to the side table to pour more water from the pitcher there.

"I don't see why they ran us out," he said returning to his uncle's side and running the damp rag across his forehead. "Clearly they didn't want to take up watch." He wasn't sure if it was a good sign or not that Thorin moaned and twitched away from the contact, his arm moving almost as if he wanted to bat the rag away. It was only when he repeated the gesture and his uncle opened a blue eye momentarily muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "let me alone, Dís," that Fíli wondered if they hadn't been telling the truth.  He pushed his hope down almost viciously. His uncle had spoken before, especially to his mother and dead uncle, this was nothing new.

"We were fighting," Kíli said softly, sitting across from his brother and absently running a finger along his uncle's braid. "It's probably not good to break into a fist fight right over someone who's healing, right?"

Fíli said nothing, his afternoon with Bilbo giving him a bit more patience with his brother than he otherwise would have had and enabling him to not mention that it was not his fault they'd been at odds. With a sigh he ran the rag down his uncle's neck. While the heat rising from his body didn't seem to be more than what was normal, he wasn't certain that was an improvement. After all, how long could a person maintain a fever? Fíli had never seen anyone die of infection and didn't know exactly how the process occurred. Did they burn and then cool before they died, or did they burn up until the moment of death? As he moved to wet the rag once more, Kíli leaned across their uncle and took the bowl.

"Let me," he said, a soft wry smile twisting his face. "It's easier to wring out a towel with two hands."

"If you wish," Fíli replied stiffly, allowing his brother to take the bowl. He watched for a moment as Kíli went about his task, a serene determination that Fíli hadn't known his brother capable of possessing in his face. The silence between them, broken by the sound of water falling from the rag into the bowl and the gentle rasp of cloth on flesh, only lasted a moment before Fíli spoke once more.

"Do you think Balin lied to us?" he asked.

"Why would he?" Kíli replied, looking up from wringing the cloth once more. "What good would it do him?"

"I don't know," Fíli said with a shrug. "Maybe he wanted to give us hope."

"Nah," Kíli said, wiping across Thorin's unmarred shoulder and down his arm, "what would that have done other than made it worse if he does die. Balin's been nothing but honest and, a bit pessimistic, really, about the whole situation." There was a snort from the bed, that both brothers took as a snore until Throin spoke, his voice too hoarse but clearly his.

"Honest?" he asked, his disbelief plain even in the quiet words. "You think _Balin's_ been honest with you?"

"Uncle!" Kíli called happily, not truly hearing what had been said in light of the fact that _something_ had been. "Do you know who we are?"

"Kíli," Thorin replied tiredly. "You have no idea how pleased I am to see you, little one. And Fíli," Thorin said turning to look at his elder nephew, Kíli's smile remaining in place despite the change of person it was directed at, "there is much you and I need to discuss, lad."

"There is," Fíli agreed, his smile faltering at being reminded of what he'd learned that first night at the eyrie.  "But it can wait. You need your rest," he added, not wanting to broach the subject with his uncle who was clearly still weakened by the fever that had burned through his veins until only a short time ago.

"No," Thorin corrected him softly, his blue eyes remaining gentle and his voice holding no rebuke. "I've been resting long enough. We need to have this discussion, Fíli. There are things I _need_ to tell you. And only you. Kíli, leave us."

"Uncle?" Kíli asked, unsure why he was being dismissed so soon after his uncle waking.

"There are things your brother and I need to speak about that should remain between the two of us," Thorin said firmly. "Leave us. You and I will have our turn, little one. Don't worry about that." He was staring at his uncle incredulously when a small sound caught his attention; a scoff from his brother. Fíli expected him to protest and get his way. It was that, more than anything else that made him bend and gently press his forehead against his uncle's before rising.

"Send for me when you're ready," he said softly, not missing Fíli's flabbergasted expression as he walked past his brother and left the room. He couldn't help the small, satisfied smile on his face as the door closed behind him. Maybe that one little decision would begin to show his brother that he had truly meant what he'd said.

Thorin was silent until the sound of Kíli's boots on the floorboards moved away from the door, only then did he turn to Fíli, who was staring after his brother as though he couldn't comprehend what had just happened. "Fíli?" Thorin called quietly, not wanting to shock his nephew. "Lad? Fíli?"

It was only after the second-time his name was called that he young heir turned to his uncle, still unable to wrap his head around what his brother had just done. Never before had Kíli taken so kindly to being excused from a room for a discussion. He hadn't even bothered to sit outside the door and eavesdrop this time. Perhaps he _had_ spoken the truth before when he'd said that he wanted to change.

It was only once he was sure that he had his nephew's attention that Thorin spoke once more. "Fíli," he said, staring into his nephew's blue eyes and feeling shame burn through him at what he had done, "I owe you an apology, Lad. More than one, truthfully, but--"

"You don't," Fíli began quickly. "I owe you one. Until I thought I'd lost Kíli . . . I didn't understand what you've gone through. Losing your brother . . . and then me, coming along looking so much like him. I'm sorry I couldn't—"

"Stop, lad," Thorin bit out, the words little more than a choked gasp. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Did Fíli truly believe that Thorin's own neglect of the lad was Fíli's fault for being born with blonde hair? He lay his head back once more on the pillow, closing his eyes against the shame that seared his gut and made his throat burn and his breathing tighten even further. The pain of seeing just how deeply he'd twisted the lad hurt more than any wound ever could. Neither his nightmares nor Balin or Dwalin's accusations had come close to the depth of the hurt he'd caused one he professed to love.

"But,Uncle, I finally understand," Fíli began only for Thorin to cut him off.

"There's nothing _to_ understand, Fíli," Thorin said, his eyes snapping open once more to find Fíli's staring down at him and something nearly frantic in his expression. "Don't you see, you had the right of it before, Lad. The day you used my name, the things you said before, you were right, Fíli. I had no right to allow my own issues to color my treatment of you. You are not Frerin. You never have been. You've always been Fili. Blonde hair or no, you are two entirely different people. I should have seen that and I'm sorry."

"But—"

"No," Thorin said forcefully, before closing his eyes as a wave of pain washed through him from the pressure that one word had placed on his wounds. It took him a moment to regain his breath but once he did, he looked at his nephew and slowly, painfully, took Fíli's left hand in his right.

"No, Fíli," he said once more. "I may have been responsible for the death of my brother, but that loss gave me _no_ right to treat you the way I did. _No one_ has any right to treat you with anything other than the utmost respect. You've never done anything to deserve anything less. And I will spend all the remaining days of my life attempting to make up for that wrong."

"You don't have to," Fíli said emphatically, his hand squeezing his uncle's, his eyes boring into the elder's. "I understand."

"Fíli," Thorin sighed, looking away, unable to see the conviction in his nephew's face. Conviction of his own lack of right to be treated as any dwarf should be, let alone an heir of Durin.

"No, listen," the young heir pleaded, squeezing Thorin's hand once more in an attempt to get him to look at him again. "I understand why it was so hard for you. I . . . after the eagles rescued us, I . . . I thought Kíli was dead, left to be tortured because I failed him, and, I've never felt pain like that before in my life. I could barely breathe around it. Then I thought about trying to go on without him, without you, and realized that if my child looked like either of you, I wasn't sure how I could deal with the reminder of my failure day after day. Don't you see? I understand. I understand why you couldn't love me like you do Kíli. I was wrong that day. I _never_ should have called you by your name, Uncle. I'm sorry I hurt you."

Thorin said nothing in response. There were no words he could say that Fíli would believe. It was now clear to him that no matter what he said Fíli was not ready to hear it. Fili's new "understanding" was the end of it. He had lost that fire that he needed to place the blame where it belonged when Thorin had asked him to kill his brother. He knew that he had seen something in his nephew break on that cliffside at his request; he just hadn't know that it had been the last of Fíli's will to fight for himself. If he wouldn't fight for himself, Thorin  _knew_ because he'd lost that will himself from time to time, then nothing anyone could say could fix it. This, too, was his fault.

"I'm sorry, Lad," Thorin whispered, seeing anew how much he'd wronged the life he'd been meant to safe-guard. "If you now understand what it feels like to be responsible for a brother's death, then you will understand better what I am about to say. I never should have asked of you what I did when the orcs cornered us. I never should have asked you to kill your brother, or yourself. I'm sorry."

"You didn't," Fíli said, his words coming frantically as he visible recoiled as though the words were weapons. "You didn't ask that of me. We never had that discussion. And I never agreed to it."

"Fíli," Thorin began, trying to reason with his nephew and get him to come to grips with what they had almost done. Another thing he knew first hand was what happened if you allowed guilt and shame to simmer and fester within yourself. Fili  _needed_ to examine what he'd done and come to peace with it. 

"No," the young heir snapped, shooting to his feet and dropping his uncle's hand as if it had burned him. "It never happened, do you hear me? I would _never_ , under _any_ circumstance, kill my brother. It _never_ happened." It only took a moment of looking at his nephew's wild, panicked eyes for Thorin to realize that what had passed between them was more than just a childish refusal to discuss the past; Fíli truly couldn't cope with what he'd been willing to do. It was something else that Thorin understood only too well. And in knowing that, he also knew that pushing him now would do no good for either of them.

"Alright, lad," he agreed gently. "It never happened. Alright?" He was relieved when Fíli nodded, his face relaxing once more as he settled down to sit beside his uncle. They were silent for a moment only Fíli's frantic breathing and Thorin's pained gasps filling the air.

"How do you feel?" Fíli finally asked, concern in his eyes and his tone almost normal.

_Betrayed_ , Thorin thought. But, being unable to explain _why_ he would feel that way to Fíli, he offered the heir a small smile. "Like I've been cut, burned, dangled and left to roast in a forge before being place on an anvil," he replied honestly—feeling he owed Fíli no less. "I'm . . . my very _bones_ ache. I've never felt anything like it before."

"It's the fever," Fíli replied, nodding sagely. "Do you remember when I was small, before Father died, and took ill with a fever. I felt the same way. It was almost like my very blood was molten. I can see if Óin has something that will help if you'd like. Beorn has rather extensive grounds and I think he and Bilbo were collecting herbs today."

"I would appreciate it," Thorin replied. "Would you mind sending whatever he may have in with your brother?" He was almost loathe to ask that last part, worrying that it would upset Fíli to be asked to send Kíli instead, but the blonde showed no reaction to the request, nodding and promising to do just that. Thorin wasn't entirely sure it was a good sign.  


	47. Willow Tea, Pacts and Sleeping Arrangements

Balin, Dwalin, Glóin and Óin were still sitting together trying to decide on the best way to go about revealing the truth of what had happened to Fíli when the dwarf in question walked into their conversation. Thankfully, before he could overhear what was being said, Glóin saw him heading directly from Thorin's room to them.

"Fíli," he greeted, more loudly than strictly necessary to alert the others of his imminent arrival. "What can we do for you, lad?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt," he said, a sheepish smile on his face, it was clear to him from their postures that he had intruded on something important. "it's just . . . Uncle's awake and . . . Óin, do you have anything for pain or fever? He's asking." He hoped that by invoking his uncle's request they would be less irritated about having their meeting interrupted.

"Is he lucid?" the healer demanded, unwilling to give medications to anyone if they were not alert. He'd seen firsthand, as a younger dwarf, that family often worried that their loved ones were in pain and requested more than they could handle. He also knew that , in his right mind, Thorin would never admit to needing help with anything. Though, he would be the first to admit pain often did strange things to a person and with the wounds Thorin had sustained a bit of abnormal behavior was to be expected.

"Yes," Fíli responded. "He's awake, he knows who I am, where he is. He's back. And he's not nearly as hot as he was. Seems more tired than anything, really." Óin nodded and dug in his bag for a moment before pulling out a piece of bark and a few white flowers.

"Willow and chamomile," he explained. "Let it set in some hot water for a bit and get him to drink it. The bark will treat his pain and fever." Fíli looked at him in confusion. If the bark would do all of that, then why was Óin giving him flowers?

"Then what are the flowers for?" Fíli finally asked when it was clear that Óin was done with his instructions.

"Taste," the elder dwarf replied before turning back to the conversation he'd been having and leaving Fíli standing there feeling decidedly foolish holding a piece of bark and a hand-full of flowers. Recognizing when he'd been dismissed, the young heir made his way across the room to where his brother was sitting with Bilbo, Bofur, Bombur, Ori and Bifur. He didn't miss the flash of pain that flickered across Kíli's face with his arrival and felt briefly guilty for interrupting yet another comfortable group and pressing in where he wasn't wanted.

"Sorry to interrupt," Fíli said offering Bilbo a small smile and the other's a nod before turning back to Kíli. "He's asking for you," he explained.

"That was . . . quick," Kíli finally managed to say, shocked that his uncle had dismissed his brother after so little time, especially when he'd seemed so determined to talk. It hurt him to know that their uncle had had so little to say to Fíli, even after all that had happened between them.

"It took as long as it needed to," Fíli replied simply. "He needs his rest. I didn't want to bore him with small-talk. Not now. Besides, he asked that I send you in and that you take this to him."  Kíli looked at the bark and flowers that Fíli held out to him before glancing back at his brother and raising an eyebrow in a silent question.

"The bark's for pain, the flowers for taste," Fíli explained. "Or, at least, that's what Óin said. You'll need a cup of hot water to brew it in." Before Kíli had a chance to ask where he was supposed to get a cup of hot water, one of Beorn's giant dogs walked up with a mug clasped between its front paws, its warm brown—shockingly intelligent—eyes suggesting that Fíli should take it. He looked about for a moment to find somewhere to set the medicine to do just that but was saved the trouble by Bilbo, who stood and smiled warmly at the dog before thanking it for its help. The animal gave what could only be called a bow in response before dropping back to all fours and disappearing into the kitchen. While Fíli stared after the dog in shock, Bilbo gently took the bark and flowers from him and placed them in the steaming water.

"Here you are, my lad. Don't let them sit too long before he drinks it," he cautioned, handing the mug to the younger brother.

"What happens if it does?" Kíli asked, terrified beyond measure at the thought of accidentally poisoning his uncle with something that was meant to help him.

"Then you'll need something much more potent than chamomile to cover the flavor of that willow bark," Bilbo laughed, pulling a face as if at the memory of a foul taste.

"Go on, lad," Bofur laughed. "By the time you've convinced Thorin to take that it'll've steeped too long." Kíli shook his head and headed for the door, leaving his brother standing there awkwardly. He couldn't help but smile as he heard Bilbo begin talking to Fíli and drawing him into the group. He was even more pleased to hear Fíli respond in a normal tone. He could only hope that it wasn't too sacrilegious to ask the Maker to bless that hobbit.  He paused before opening the door to his uncle's room, unsure if it was better to open the door knowing that his uncle lived and that they needed to talk or if it had been worse wondering if he would be dead. Berating himself as a coward, he pushed open the door and walked in with his head held high.

"I've brought you some tea, Uncle,"  Kíli called, not bothering to force a bright tone to his voice but rather allowing his weariness to creep through. "Fíli says that Óin says it will help with the pain."

"I told Fíli I would, but I don't know that I should drink that," Thorin replied, eyeing the cup suspiciously. Once he would have said that there was nothing to fear from anything the healer offered him but now, well he could think of at least one reason that Óin might want him dead. While he couldn't truly see his cousin attempting to poison him, he wasn't feeling sure of anything at the moment.

"If you're going to you should do it quickly," Kíli offered. "Bilbo says that the chamomile that is in it to cover the willow bark will only work for so long and it'll taste terrible if you wait too long."

"The hobbit confirmed the medicinal value of the herbs?" Thorin asked, knowing that the hobbit had no reason to want him gone. If Bilbo had confirmed the identification then he would be a fool to sit there in pain simply because he was feeling betrayed and paranoid.

"He did," Kíli agreed. Thorin nodded and attempted to sit himself up and reach for the mug only for his shoulders to protest with a bolt of pain that left him panting.

"You'll have to help me sit up, lad," Thorin said once he was able to speak once more. Kíli nodded and moved to support his uncle, ignoring the throb in his own back and held the cup to his lips. They made a bit of a mess, Kíli being unaccustomed to holding a cup for another to drink from and Thorin being unpracticed at drink from a cup held by another, but most of the liquid ended up down the throat of the elder of the two. It was only once he had Thorin situated back on his bedding and the elder dwarf had caught his breath that Kíli spoke.

"You said we have things to talk about," he said softly, "What are they?"

"I've done you a disservice, Little One," Thorin said, knowing that he should have had more of a lead in than that but unable to summon the strength and energy to force the words from his body. "Not in the same way I did your brother but . . . I should have pushed you harder, just as I should have given him more rein. You're not nearly the dwarf you could have been and I'm sorry." Kíli sat there for a moment feeling as if he'd been doused in cold water before the shock faded and fury took its place.

" _That's_ what you wanted to talk to me about?" he scoffed. "You've been unconscious for _two_ damn days, while I've been sitting by your side, worried beyond words that you wouldn't wake and the _first_ words you want to say to me are that I'm not half the dwarf I could have been?"

"It's true," Thorin replied. "I've allowed you to be coddled and—"

"Coddled?!" Kíli cut him off. "You think I've been coddled? I started every single training available _before_  Fíli did. Coddled! Tell me this, Uncle; could I even speak properly before you had me in lessons?"

"That wasn't my idea. You were only there because _you demanded_ to go," Thorin shot back.  "Your mother threatened me with an _ax_ e and with taking you away from me when I so much as _suggested_ that either of you go. That decision was all yours."

"Why did she do that?" Kíli asked, wracking his memory for even a hint of what his uncle was saying. He couldn't recall a time that his uncle and his mother ever fought over them, let alone his mother threatening his uncle with an axe.

"She felt I was pushing your brother too hard," Thorin spat. "As if _she_ wasn't doing worse the whole time. With her manipulating and spear-heading of underhanded betrayals of the son she professed to defend."

"What?" Kíli breathed, fear flooding through him at his uncle's words. While he'd known that his mother knew what Thorin had done to Fíli, surely she hadn't been the ring-leader of any of it. She wouldn't've. She couldn't've.

"Lad," Thorin sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head sadly. "When you told me everyone, including your mother, knew about my lack of relationship with your brother why didn't you tell me that everyone else remained silent at her bidding?"

"No," Kíli replied, shaking his head. "You've got it wrong. She wouldn't. She _loves_ Fíli. More than she loves any of the rest of us."

"Does she?" Thorin bit out. "Then why have two of the people who betrayed your brother in my name said that they only held their tongues at her bidding? That each of them wanted to confront me but she told them that under no circumstance were they to do so?"

"But she . . ." He trailed off, unable to process the idea that their mother had chosen to defend Thorin over her favorite son. A cruel voice within him whispered that maybe he'd been wrong and Fíli never was her favorite. Perhaps she'd only treated him as she had, with such tolerance and affection, to ease her own guilt at what she was doing. Had any of them ever treated his brother as they should have? With that last thought, panic flooded his veins and he reached for his uncle, fingers stopping just shy of grabbing his shoulders in his urgency.

"Tell me that you didn't tell Fíli," he gasped, unable to breathe around the thought of what the same realization he'd just had would do to his brother if Fíli had the chance to come to it.

"About your mother?" Thorin asked, shocked at the sudden change in Kíli's demeanor and at the intensity burning in his brown eyes. "No, I never. I would never be so cruel as to take his faith in his mother, misplaced though it may be. Not now." With that assurance, Kíli sank back on his heels, a sigh of relief falling from his lips.

"He can't know," Kíli finally said, his voice little more than a whisper.  

"Not yet," Thorin agreed, closing his eyes and hoping that they were making the right decision to keep this from his eldest nephew before the image of Fíli's wild blue eyes as he'd made Thorin swear that they would never speak of their agreement on the cliff-side flashed across his mind. The memory only served to solidify his resolve in this matter. There were some things that were best left unspoken and this was one of them.  

It wasn't long after that thought that Thorin passed into sleep once more, the tea and the exhaustion of his condition making the call unavoidable. Kíli could see the change the moment it took place, the stiffness in his uncle's limbs relaxing and his breathing deepening slightly, though still far too shallow for comfort. Leaving his uncle to his rest, Kíli stood and left, leaving the door cracked open so that they would hear if he called for anything before moving back towards where his brother was sitting with Bilbo and the other, that same contented smile back in place. The same smile that once again vanished at the sight of him, replaced by a tense wariness that had the rest of them turning to see what had caused the change in the blonde prince.

"That was mighty quick, lad," Bofur said, upon seeing that there was nothing there aside from Kíli. "You didn't fight with him, did you?" While it stung that Bofur's first thought was that he had stormed out of the room after a fight, Kíli did have to admit that he had probably deserved the reputation lately and forced a smile on his face.

"No," he replied, sinking to the ground with a groan. "He drank the tea and fell asleep in the middle of our conversation."

"Just asleep, yes?" Fíli asked, moving as if he were going to go and check and only stopping when Kíli laid a gentle hand on his knee.

"He's just asleep, Fee," Kíli promised. "I stayed long enough to make sure. He's still breathing and looks more peaceful than he has in a while. It's alright." Fíli was slightly unnerved by the calm sadness in his brother's brown eyes and the gentle, yet steady pressure his hand was exerting on his knee. Kíli had never been gentle before, his touches sudden and far too rough to be truly affectionate outside of the rough-housing of siblings. The change made him wonder if Kíli hadn't spoken the truth earlier about wanting to change.

"Someone should stay with him," Fíli said, slightly ashamed with himself when he heard the shakiness in his own voice and attempting to cover it in rising from the floor.

"Shouldn't be you," Bofur said patting the blonde heir on the shoulder firmly, using the friendly gesture to surreptitiously force him back to the floor. "You both look like a good wind might blow you over at the moment. When was the last time you got a good night's sleep?"

"I could ask you the same," Fíli returned with a smirk. The entire company looked exhausted. Even dwarves, hearty though they were, had their limits and the company had been pushed well beyond theirs by recent events.  

"Not sure," Bofur returned. "All the same, I haven't been keeping vigil at the bedside of injured kin. You won't do anyone any good if you drop dead from exhaustion, will you?" Without waiting for an answer, Bofur walked away, closing the door behind him. Fíli shook his head with a small laugh before turning back to the group.

"What do you lot say to turning in for the night?" he asked.

"I suppose I could be persuaded," Bilbo said, sending one final smoke ring to the ceiling before extinguishing his pipe. "After all, it has been a trying few days and Gandalf promises that this place is safe, so long as we do as we're told." It only took moments for the bedding Beorn had provided them to be arranged to their liking and less than that for them to suss out positions. Fíli was just comfortable when he heard his name and looked over to see Kíli staring at him with a clear question in his eyes.

"Not tonight, Kíli," Fíli muttered. "I'm too tired to try to find comfortable ways for both of us to sleep. Just lay down." Feeling slightly disappointed, Kíli lay down near enough to his brother that he could just feel the warmth of his body but not touch him without stretching out his arm. While not the closeness he'd hoped for, he took it as a good sign that Fíli didn't move away when Kíli's fingers accidently brushed his back.

Despite what Fíli had said, when Bilbo was awakened by a sound in the middle of the night, they had come together in their sleep, Kíli once more resting pillowed on Fíli's shoulder and Fíli's arm around his brother. Though neither of them had been aware of doing it, the sight of them together brought a smile to Bilbo's face and hope that things could go back to how they once had been before that dreadful business with the Goblins had happened.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments on the last chapter will be answered, however I'm a bit short on time today and figured you'd appreciate an update more :) Hope I made the right decision ;)


	48. Returned Things and Realizations

The next morning they awoke to a hearty laugh as their host threw open his great doors and burst into the room. Fíli attempted to shoot to his feet only to be stopped by a warm weight on his chest. He felt a brief flare of panic before he looked down and recognized the familiar unruly mop of hair. Somehow, in the dark of night, Kíli had wound up sprawled across him again. As his brother extracted his limbs from his, he glanced around  and saw more than one dwarf grumbling and replacing a weapon that had been unsheathed at the rather abrupt awakening.

"You're a tense lot, aren't you?" Beorn asked with another laugh as he eyed the weaponry his guests slept next to. "I swear that you are safe here. None would dare attack my house and after last night I know your tale to be true. Anyone that can stir up that much trouble with the goblins and orcs is welcome in my home."

"What changed?" Balin asked, his usual diplomacy gone in light of the gruffness of his rousing that morning.

"Why, my good dwarf, I investigated the sight of your battle and found the burned trees and warg and orc corpses that you said should be there," Beorn replied, not seeming the least bit perturbed by the straight-forwardness of Balin's question. "I also caught and orc scout and warg that were _persuaded_ to tell me they were searching for a group of dwarves who had killed the Great Goblin."

"Technically it was I that killed the Great Goblin," Gandalf muttered. "Trust and orc and warg to muddle their details."

"I also found these at the battle site," Beorn continued, ignoring Gandalf in favor of  holding Kíli's sword and Fíli's dagger aloft. "They were too well made to be orc weapons. I thought you might like them returned." Fíli's blood froze at the sight of his dagger.  The physical reminder of what he'd nearly done to his brother . . . he felt sick and suddenly wished that Beorn had left it where it had fallen. Left behind just as the foolish agreement he'd forged with his uncle had been. But much like that, the dagger being returned was just proof that, try to forget it as he might, the choice he'd made could never be left behind.

 Kíli quickly moved forward to claim his sword, a vague feeling of embarrassment filling him at having lost his weapon and having it returned to him so publically. True dwarves only parted with their weapons in death, after all. The shame was only mitigated by the fact that he knew that he hadn't been the one to lose his sword—not that he would ever tell the others that it had been his uncle that dropped it. He knew the truth and that was what mattered. The other's could think what they wanted.

"Thank you," Kíli said looking up at the giant of a man with a small smile. He took his own sword before reaching for the dagger as well. Just before his fingers could touch it, Fíli's voice rang out.

"Don't touch that!" the blonde heir snarled unable to stand the idea of his baby brother touching the thing that had almost taken his life. As much as he wished to pretend that he and his uncle had never made such a loathsome pact, they had and that dagger was tainted by the memory of what could have—but never should have— been and he didn't want the taint of his mistakes to stain Kíli as well.

"Fíli . . . what—" Kíli asked turning to see his brother glaring at the dagger with such hatred that he was surprised that it wasn't melting. Why would his own dagger enrage him so? Or was it not the dagger but that he had almost touched it?

"I said don't touch it," Fíli repeated, his voice breaking as he was struck once more by what he'd nearly done. He'd nearly killed his brother. " I can't . . . just . . . don't."

"Then you'll have to come get it," Kíli said with a shrug, though his tone betrayed his hurt at his brother forbidding him to touch his weapon.  He had thought that they were past this. He knew that Fíli still didn't trust him like he once had, but for Fíli to forbid this . .  . it was tantamount to saying aloud to everyone that Kíli was not only not trusted but was also not kin. Ordinarily, dwarves didn't touch one another's weapons save for in times of great need, but such things rarely held true for kin. They'd never held true for the brothers. And that change hurt. More than anything Fíli had said about not being able to go back, having such a basic right revoked publicly, it hurt and more than that, it drove home what Fíli had been saying just the other night; while he didn't hate Kíli, he didn't trust him.

 "Now I understand. If you don't want me to touch your things . . ." Kíli began before making a noise of disgust and storming from the room before he said something he'd regret.  He would honor his promise to his brother and respect his decisions. Even so, it didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

"Kíli, wait," Fíli called after his brother, but it was useless. Kíli was gone and he was left alone in the middle of the dining room with the rest of the company looking at him strangely. As he glanced from one face to the next, he wanted to tell them that they'd misunderstood. That it wasn't what they thought; it wasn't that he didn't trust Kíli to touch his weapons. It wasn't that they weren't kin. But, rather, that he wanted to protect his brother from his own mistakes. But he couldn't bring himself to tell them the truth. Not when it was so much worse than what they currently believed and since it wouldn't just be him that was shamed by his admittance but his uncle and Kíli as well. Instead, he sighed and walked away in the opposite direction his brother had gone, promising to himself that he'd think of something other than the truth to tell his brother to explain away what had just happened. For all his hatred of secrets and lies, Fíli knew that Kíli never needed to know what had nearly happened on that cliff.   

"Here's our chance, lads," Balin muttered, nodding after the blonde heir. They'd been wondering about how to separate Fíli from the others and it seemed that Mahal had provided the chance they needed. Perhaps the Maker had intended for them to tell him after all.

"Aye," Dwalin sighed, rising and following after his brother. Glóin and Óin doing the same. All of them hoping that it truly was the Maker that had made this chance for them and not some darker force that wanted to see them all suffer.

Beorn stood in the middle of the room wondering just what he had allowed into his house. He could feel the tension and anger in the air and was unsettled by the force of it. He could sense that there were shifts among them, recent ones at that, but he could not tell how or when they came about, though he could guess given the state of the dwarf in the other room and the fact that they'd come through Goblin Town. So lost was he in attempting to scent out the different emotions and relationships that he jumped at the feeling of a small hand on his lower leg. Looking down he saw the barefooted young man that was not a dwarf but traveling with dwarves.

"I'll take that," Bilbo said, attempting to smile up at the giant of a man. "The dagger, I mean."

"It's an awfully large knife for such a small creature," Beorn replied, bending to pass it to the hobbit. "Are you sure you can manage it?"

In response Bilbo laughed. "I'm much hardier than I look, I assure you," he returned and he placed the dagger next to the place he had claimed to place his own belongings.  

"No doubt," Beorn agreed. "Especially to have made it so far. Though you do look as if you could use a good feeding. Come, eat with me and tell me of your lands. Gandalf tells me that you come from the west?"

"Yes," Bilbo replied eagerly, launching into a description of The Shire and following the giant towards the table, jogging in an attempt to keep up with him—though Beorn was walking rather slowly—and growing more breathy as the dual tasks of jogging and talking loudly enough to be heard took their toll. Though he let out a rather indignant squeak when Beorn lifted him in one hand  and placed him on his shoulder, he was secretly relieved as it made conversation much simpler. It grew simpler yet when BIlbo realized that the man was not just being polite, he was genuinely intrigued about life in Hobbiton, especially their farming practices and gardening tips. Dining with the man, enjoying his divine honey while telling him of home and trading suggestions was the most relaxation that Bilbo had experienced on this entire quest. It was only the knowledge that Fíli would be bored with such topics that didn't make him wish that the lad had remained to enjoy the easy atmosphere of Beorn's table.  

**ooOO88OOoo**

Thorin awoke with a start, unsure what had caused him to wake, reaching for his sword automatically only to stop with a hiss as his shoulder and ribs protested the sudden movement. He tried to force down his panic at being on the floor in an unknown location and not being able to even reach for his weapon or breathe properly. As he glanced around in confusion, attempting to discern where he was—the roof was so high, but it appeared to be wood rather than stone, how odd—his eyes fell on Bofur, leaning casually against a door—the only door—with a calm expression on his face and a piece of wood and knife in his hand, whittling as he hummed.

"Morning," the miner said, glancing up for a second before focusing on his work once more.

"Morning," Thorin replied, the sight of the other dwarf doing something so domestic and relaxing causing him to relax as well and allowing the memories of the night before to come back. His nephews, they'd said they were somewhere safe. Or he thought it had been night. For some reason he wasn't sure. Time had been moving so strangely. He remembered being attacked on the cliff and then strange dreams, then a conversation with his cousins. Though he'd felt anger at the time, now he only felt confusion and hurt.

"Are we still at that friend of Gandalf's? The skin-changer's?" Thorin asked softly.

"Aye," Bofur confirmed. "Going on our second day here."

"And how many has it been since . . ." Thorin trailed off, not certain which event  he should use to mark the passage of time. There had been so many in such a short time. And he wasn't certain how many days he had missed, though he knew there had been some.

"Goblin town?" Bofur supplied. "Five very long nights. We're going on the sixth day. You've been out for two."

"Two days since the cliff," Thorin muttered. _Two days since I made my greatest mistake_ , he mentally completed. "Tell me, how have things been while I was unconscious?"

"The same as they were when you were awake," Bofur replied. "The same as they've been since we were dragged into the mountains. The company's tense, but you knew that. We're anxious. We've been worried for you and your kin. I don't know everything that's been going on between you lot but . . ." Bofur trailed off. It was different talking to Thorin than to Kíli. While Kíli was still royal, he was little more than a dwarfling while Thorin was older than Bofur and a king in his own right, not just a potential king. As little as Kíli had liked being lectured, something told Bofur that Thorin would appreciate it less. And, though he was no tyrant, the consequences of displeasing Thorin could be far more reaching.

"Tell me," Thorin said, his voice soft and his eyes almost pleading. "Tell me what you've seen. I admit I have been rather preoccupied lately. Perhaps with reason, however I would know how my company fares." Bofur sighed in response. He doubted the king would like the answer, but if there was one thing he admired about Thorin it was how well he listened to the needs of his people.

"They're nervous, Thorin," Bofur said after a moment, shaking his head sadly. "I understand that what's going on between you and the lads and for some reason, Balin, Dwalin, Óin and Glóin is a private, family matter, and I won't ask what that something is since it's really none of my business, but . . . it doesn't bode well. I don't mean any disrespect, mind you, and I don't mean to tell you how to lead your own expedition, but . . . the lot of you bickering, even privately, we can feel the tension. We can tell that the royal family, our leaders on the quest, are one cross word from falling apart.

"We all know there's something going on that we don't know about," Bofur continued, "and we _hope_ it's just a private family matter, but having the lot of you at one another's throats makes us nervous."  


"I assure you," Thorin promised, "the tensions between my nephews and cousins will have no effect on the outcome of the quest."

"Don't you see," Bofur returned, "it already is. No one's said it, not out loud but I can _see_ it, Thorin. In their eyes. They're worried. And they should be. We may be safe at the moment but what about when we're back out in the wilds? What if the lads have another falling out and we are forced to separate the company to find them—as well we should—and we're attacked. Or if there are harsh feelings before an attack and those feelings get in the way of actions that should have been taken? Or if an idea is rejected simply because of anger or mistrust of the one who made it and leads to disaster?" Bofur fell silent for a moment to collect himself, very aware of the fact that he'd just done the very thing he'd said he wouldn't and lectured his king.

"Point being," he muttered, looking down at his whittling so that he wouldn't see Thorin's face and lose his nerve to finish, "even if you think it's not, the distrust floating around . . . it's bad for us all. And these things, they're contagious. It's how factions are formed. We can't afford factions, Thorin. Not if we're to have any chance of succeeding.

"Do you think we can?" Thorin asked, looking up at the miner with curiosity. "Succeed, that is?"

"I wouldn't've come otherwise," Bofur replied with a smile before turning all of his attention back to his work, a soft humming coming from his throat once more.

In the quiet of the room, Thorin mulled over what Bofur had said. Ever since the Misty Mountains, he'd heard no talk of success, even Dwalin had admitted to knowing this was a suicide mission, when no talk of failure had been present before. Perhaps the miner was right. Thorin knew all too well that image was everything. If you looked as though you could do it, more people were likely to believe it to be so. Hadn't he lived by that belief for over a hundred years, forcing a confidence he'd rarely felt—knowing himself to be a failure—just so that other's wouldn't worry? Time and again, hadn't he forced back his darker thoughts and emotions to be the leader his people needed, crushed his certainty that he would fail at this just as he'd failed to save his kingdom, his mother and his brother? How many times had he ignored the voices that told him that all the suffering of his people were his fault. That if he'd only been faster or more cunning he could have prevented it. But no one knew he felt that way. Only Dís. And she'd always been a voice of reason in the darkness, anchoring him back when it all became too much. Taking his pain as her own and giving him the strength to continue keeping up the confidence he'd never felt, allowing him to be the king his people needed.

For the first time since he'd learned of her involvement in the situation with Fíli, he thought he could maybe understand he choice. It hadn't been right, but after all, who was he to criticize the choices of others? He who had scorned and abandoned his brother on the eve of battle? No, he knew that Dís loved her son and that to make such a terrible choice she must have had a compelling reason. And t broke his heart but he knew what that reason had been: him. He had been the reason she had betrayed her son's trust. He, in his weakness, had forced her to chose kin over kin.

He had always pretended that he had no recollection of what had happened, he couldn't bear to see the sadness in her eyes when she'd believed he'd remembered, but he could remember. Snatched, bits and pieces of darkness. Times he'd gone days without food and not felt hunger gnawing at his belly, nor the thirst he _knew_ should have been present, nearly welcoming the weakness it brought, thinking that it was wrong that his body should feel so strong when he felt so weak. Times he'd only continued to breath out of habit and no real drive to do so. Times even the thought of rising from bed was too much to bear consideration. But she was always there, forcing him to eat, even when the food held no taste or joy, forcing him to drink, reminding him that there was warmth and light in the world when he couldn't imagine it existing, even when he knew he didn't deserve it.

She'd always been there, seeing to him, reminding him to live when he'd forget how. He knew she worried. Looking back now, he could see how careful she'd been with him, little signs of anxiety he hadn't realized were for him. How she would watch him so carefully after any setback, just as she did Fíli. That though was like a dip in an icy river as he realized what he never had before, even with it all laid out before him the day before. Fíli's desperation that they never speak of what had happened on the cliff, the brokenness in his nephew's eyes he'd noticed repeatedly on this quest.  He wondered if anyone else had figured it out yet. Did Dís know what his weakness and her choices had done? He hoped not. A betrayer she may have been, but she'd surely had a reason and no mother should ever face what she would if she knew. It broke Thorin to realized that the darkness, illness even, of his mind had infected his nephew. Fíli suffered from the same melancholy that plagued him and who did he have to pull him back? Who was his Dís? _No one,_ a dark voice whispered inside him. _Fíli has no one. Kíli is not his mother. He doesn't have her quiet strength. Fíli has no one._

”Bofur," Thorin whispered, not bothering to be upset when his voice broke. "Can you ask Óin for more of that tea from last night?"

"Aye," Bofur replied, setting down his whittling and rising to his feet, recognizing the pain in his king's voice even if he had identified the wrong source. It was only when the door closed that Thorin allowed a few silent tears to fall from his eyes.

 _Fíli, my lad, I'm so sorry,_ he thought, knowing that no words would ever be enough. The damage had been done and no force on this earth could heal what had been broken. Fíli was doomed, through Thorin's own weakness, to suffer the same doubts as Thorin had ever since Smaug descended and his careless actions had cost his mother her life. And all of that pain would be his nephew's through no fault of the lad himself but rather the sins of his kin. For a brief moment, Thorin felt the darkness rising up to claim him and he was tempted to allow it to take him before Fíli's eyes the night before floated through his mind. Suddenly  his eyes snapped open once more.

"No," he whispered. "Not this time." This time he had no one to rely on but himself. There was no Dís to bully him into living, and if he was gone, there were none left who knew about Fíli's troubles. Fíli needed him. As tempting as the darkness, and the apathy it brought with it, was, Fíli needed him. He would keep the darkness at bay for him. For Fíli he would hang on. Together they would fight.

 _Assuming he lets you,"_ that same dark voice whispered. Thorin had no answer to this. There was no reason for Fíli to trust him. That was true. He could only hope that he would. The longer Thorin was alone, the more certain he became that try though he might, he would only fail Fíli, just as he had failed so many before him. He was not optimistic that he would succeed in this, however he knew that he owed it to his nephew to at least try. So, fail though he might, Thorin was going to try. He would attempt to be Fíli's anchor in the maelstrom. And if they both drifted, then at least neither of them would be alone.  

It was with this new conviction that, when Bofur returned apologizing for not being able to find Óin, Thorin requested the other dwarf assist him to his feet.

"I've been still for too long," he replied when the miner argued that Thorin should remain on the cot at least a bit longer. "I have a company to reassure and motivate." Seeing the determination burning in Thorin's blue eyes once more, Bofur had little choice but to attempt to get  the king to his feet.

After a few moments it became obvious that their efforts were futile. Thorin was still too weak from fever and blood loss.

"What do you say you try to motivate them tomorrow?" Bofur asked, laying Thorin back on his palate once more.

"Perhaps that's for the best," Thorin agreed, laying back with a groan. "After all, a king that can't stand on his own is hardly a motivating sight."

"Maybe not," Bofur replied with a grin. "However the fact that he's willing to try says something." But Bofur didn't elaborate on what that something was and simply resumed his previous position by the door, whittling and humming once more. Thorin shook his head with a small laugh before laying back and closing his eyes, reasoning that if he couldn't get up he may as well think. Moments later, the soft sound of snores permeated the air as he once more drifted off to sleep. Bofur paused in his humming for a moment, before resuming it again with a tune more in time with the snores of his king. After all, even if it wasn't true music, there was no point in being off the beat.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So . . . um I fully intended to have the cousins' chat with Fíli in this chapter but then what was supposed to be a little chunk of a chapter turned massive on me. Thorin and Bofur was never supposed to go on so long but . . . well, it did and I kinda like it. So . . . yeah. Fili and the cousins will be in the next chapter, I swear.   
> Stickdonkeys.


	49. Empty

After he left the house, Fíli walked until he reached the clearing he and Bilbo had shared the day before. Part of him wished the hobbit was there with him, Bilbo was good at making his tousled emotions fall back into place, listening without judging and offering, _generally_ good advice, but he knew that would be bad. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't talk to Bilbo about this. As open as Bilbo'd been about most things, this was too abhorrent to be tolerated, even by a hobbit. There was no gentle way to put it; he'd plotted with his uncle to kill his brother and then commit suicide. His reasoning had been noble enough, if there _is_ such a thing as a noble reason for murder, but that he agreed to do it, and had been prepared to follow through with his agreement . . . no, there was no one he could explain this to, except, perhaps, his uncle, but he'd probably lost that chance when he'd told his uncle that they needed to act as though nothing had happened.

If only he'd been willing to face what he'd nearly done the night before, perhaps he's wouldn't have been so blindsided when confronted with it that morning. He _should_ have known better than to think that pretending something never happened could make it so. When had ignoring a problem or mistake ever been good for their family? It only ever led to trouble. This quest had proved that even if it accomplished nothing else. Though he had to admit that confronting this secret would most likely only lead to more trouble than it would avert.  Kíli, though he was owed an explanation, did not need the truth. It would break his heart to learn that those he'd trusted had plotted against him in such a dastardly manner.

All the same, he couldn't, in good conscience, allow his brother to think that Fíli didn't see him as kin. He knew that pain only too well himself and as irritated with his brother as he was, as little as he trusted him to have anyone's interests in mind but his own, he was still his brother. The time he'd spent on the cliff thinking Kíli was dead had been the worst moments of his life, worse even than hearing that Kíli was disowning him. It had been such a final, empty, pain. Knowing that there was no chance of reconciliation. As sharp as the pain of hearing that he was unworthy of being kin had been, it hadn't compared to the empty feeling that his very heart had been ripped from his chest by his own doing. Not that knowing that Kíli could think so little of him had lost _all_ of its sting, but in light of the possibility of losing Kíli forever it had faded a bit. Even so, it was a pain that he wouldn't wish on anyone, especially not on a simple mistake. He couldn't leave it like it was, with Kíli believing he'd been disowned, as Fíli knew that he would be given his refusal to allow his brother to handle his weapon.

In hindsight, there'd probably been a better way to handle the situation with the dagger, but having it brought out so suddenly, there hadn't been time to think. Once more his lack of ability to think on his feet was hurting those that he cared about. Looking back over the last five days he could see countless times he should have handled things differently than he had. With a sigh, he leaned his head against the tree he was leaning against, closing his eyes and allowing the cool morning wind to blow across his face.

 _How did things become such a mess?_ he wondered. _Is there anything I could have done differently to prevent this outcome? Back in Goblin Town, was there another way?_  As he replayed the last few days in his head, he could see so many opportunities he should have taken to stop this fissure from occurring, or at least kept it from widening to where it now was. It truly was his fault. He could have stopped it all had he only thought for a moment before he acted.  He could see now that he should have warned Kíli in the Goblin Caves as to what was happening. Kíli had been right, the Goblin hadn't forbidden it, all it would have taken was two or three words and that first break between them could have been prevented. Had he done that then none of this would have happened. Kíli would never have disowned him. He wouldn't have felt betrayed and cornered and cut his brother's face. He wouldn't have disowned his uncle. All things that he regretted that could have been prevented with one little change. The incident on the cliff still may have gone the same way, or perhaps not. Had the fracture between them never happened, perhaps he and his brother would have been a united force against the orcs, injured but moving as one just as they always had. If only he'd just _told_ his brother what was going on.

 _Like now?_   his mind snipped. _You're doing it again and for the same reason. You don't want to worry him, just like in the caves._ He tried to convince himself that this was different, but the thought felt hollow, even as a silent one. This was no different. It was just one more secret, one more lie, one more stone between them that could never be removed once it was placed. He had said that he couldn't trust Kíli, but how could he expect his brother to trust him when he planned to keep something so important from him? He'd been wrong; abhorrent though it was, Kíli deserved the truth, after all, it wasn't as if things between them could get _worse._ And they didn't have to tell everyone, as long as he and Kíli knew the truth did it truly matter what the others thought? As he heard his name called by Dwalin, he realized that yes, yes it did matter what they thought. The idea of them, any of them, knowing just how low he'd sunk—he could still remember the shock and shame in their eyes when he'd cut Kíli, and he hadn't intended to kill his brother then, regardless of the blade at his throat—and having to see their disappointment . . . it was something that he couldn't face. Just the thought of it was enough to have his heart pounding against his ribs painfully and for him to begin to seek an escape. No sooner did he begin looking than he realized it was impossible to escape, Balin, Dwalin, Óin and Glóin had found him and, judging from their somber expressions, they knew what he'd nearly done and wanted to discuss his failures.

"Fíli, we . . . we need to speak with you, lad," Balin said softly, moving to sit beside him.

"I don't want to talk about it," Fíli countered, a bit embarrassed when his voice came out showing his desperation not to speak about the night on the cliff, or what had just occurred between him and his brother.

"Neither do we, lad," Dwalin sighed dropping to the ground beside his brother, regret clear in every line of his large frame.

"Then let's not," Fíli replied, nearly frantic as his other cousins followed suit. "We don't have to talk about it. Not now, not ever."

"But we do," Glóin said, unable to quite meet Fíli's eyes in light of his own shame at what they had done and allowed to happen. Fíli, however took the inability to look at him as a judgment on his own actions and felt his breathing begin to speed. That they would _follow_ him to criticize his decisions . . . wasn't it enough that he knew he had made a mistake?

"We don't," Fíli tried again. "It'll be fine. I'll apologize to Kíli. You don't have to tell me I was wrong." At his words the cousins exchanged a glance. Fíli thought they were there to lecture him on disowning the brother who had done the same to him only a few days before? It was Balin that eventually got found his voice.

"We don't care about that, Fíli," he said. "You are welcome to do with Kíli as you will. After all, he was the first to declare that you are not kin."

"You don't," Fíli asked, skeptical that they wouldn't care that he had been cruel to his brother when past experience had told him that Kíli was guarded above nearly all else.

"We don't," Balin repeated. "We . . . we're actually here to offer you an apology of our own, lad. It . . . there are no words to express what we need to, no . . . no forgiveness for what we have done but all the same, we owe you an explanation." Before Fíli could ask for clarification, it was offered, Dwalin taking up the mantle this time.

"We knew," he said simply, his tone gruff and choked with emotion at the same time. "What Thorin was doing to you. We knew. And we stood by and did nothing."

"Not _nothing_ ," Balin corrected. "We did attempt to offer you praise in his place. To give you the gentle nudges of encouragement that Thorin didn't but . . . well . . . "

"We failed," Glóin said shortly. "We failed you."

"What do you mean, you knew?" Fíli asked, attempting to wrap his head around what was being said. How could _they_ have known? Kíli hadn't. Mother hadn't. Even Thorin claimed not to have known. How could they know something that his closest kin had missed? He couldn't make it make sense.

"Exactly that," Balin continued, uncertain why Fíli seemed to be having difficulty grasping something said in plain words. "We knew. We saw Thorin's distance and his callousness. The way nothing you ever did was good enough, brilliant though it may have been. We saw." For a moment Fíli felt numb but suddenly that feeling was gone and rage took its place.

"You knew," he spat. "You saw what was happening and you _never_ said anything?! Not to me? Not to him? I thought I was crazy, oversensitive. No one else seemed to see that he treated me any differently but you're telling me that all along you saw and did nothing?"

"We wanted to," Glóin said softly, his eyes now boring into Fíli's begging the heir to understand. "We _tried_ but . . ."

"We _couldn't_ talk to Thorin," Dwalin continued. "Do you remember that day, the day you tried archery? When you left I confronted Thorin about his reaction to your attempt." Dwalin closed his eyes, his face contorting in pain. "The only other times I saw him so upset were in the years just after the failure at Moria. We truly thought we were going to lose your uncle then, Fíli. He'd go days without food or sleep and he didn't seem to feel the need to do so. His eyes . . . they were so . . ." He trailed off, unable to find the words to describe the apathy in Thorin's gaze after the fall of his brother. The way that though his determination to succeed had remained, it had been a mechanical will with no passion behind it. For a time, _Thorin_ had disappeared, even if his body continued to go through the motions.

"Empty," Óin supplied.

"Empty," Dwalin agreed. "I hadn't seen that emptiness in nearly a hundred years and it came back that day."

"So you never confronted him again because his eyes were empty?" Fíli asked, his tone softening as he understood a bit of what they meant. He'd seen that emptiness in his uncle when they had been fleeing the orcs. If confronting him had caused the same effect, he could see why they'd been loath to do it. It had been terrifying to see his vivacious, obstinate, uncle meekly following the commands of others.

"No, lad," Dwalin replied. "I never confronted him again because we needed him. We needed _Thorin_ not the shell of the dwarf. And your mother knew that."

"What does my mother have to do with anything?" Fíli asked, feeling as if they had placed him on ice with no sure footing to be had. Just when he thought he knew where the conversation was going, they changed it.

"She asked me never to confront him again," Dwalin said. "I shouldn't have agreed but . . . we _needed_ Thorin, Fíli. And, you didn't see him that night. He . . . he was _broken_ lad. It was nearly as bad as the night we found Frerin. Thorin . . . he didn't speak, gave no sign that he was even aware of the world around him."

"Just like the other day," Fíli muttered.

"Aye," Dwalin agreed. "Just like that." Fíli nodded understanding what Dwalin was saying. They had needed Thorin more than they 'd needed Fíli. Just as his uncle had been willing to sacrifice himself so that they might escape the orcs, they had sacrificed Fíli for the good of their people. He knew that he should feel angry, betrayed, or at least indignant, but he didn't. This was not news. After all, hadn't he always known that he was worth less than his uncle or Kíli? Had he ever done anything well enough to deserve recognition? No. And that, nothing that his cousins had done or hadn't, was the reason for his uncle's distance. If Fíli'd just been stronger, smarter, faster, then he would have received the praise he felt he'd deserved. His uncle had set the bar, Fíli just hadn't been good enough to meet it. And with reason. Hadn't he just realized that _he_ could have prevented the rift between him and his brother?

They were right to chose his uncle over him. A celebrated king and beloved ruler over a failure of a prince, especially when there was a second to take his place when he showed his true worthlessness. They had seemed reluctant to tell him but he couldn't understand why. Knowing  that everyone had always seen the truth, that he'd fooled no one, made him breathe easier. All of the years of anxiety, of striving to be something he wasn't, they could have been prevented. All along everyone had known that he had no skills, that he would never amount to half the king Thorin was. They had known that he could never reach the standard expected of him. And had chosen to keep Thorin due to his inherent weakness. Knowing that they'd never expected him to succeed, it was freeing almost. He could feel all of his stress melting away, leaving nothing behind.

Óin grew worried when Fíli quit asking questions, his face going slack and his eyes seeming to see something that wasn't there. He was more concerned still when the lad didn't respond when his name had been called more than once. His only relief came when he placed a hand on the heir's shoulders and Fíli turned to look at him, but that relief was short lived as he caught sight of the lack of fire in the blue eyes.

"Are you alright, lad?" Óin asked, praying to Mahal that the lad would answer  and then wishing he never had. Silent anger would have been better than what they received.

"Never better," Fíli replied, his tone flat. "Thank you all for telling me this. I needed to hear it."

"Are you sure? You're not mad?" Glóin added. He'd been expecting rage, tears, demands for their reasoning, not this calm acceptance. He darted a quick glance at Dwalin only to see that the other warrior had horror written across his face as he studied the blonde heir.

"I'm fine," Fíli said, that same flat tone still in place, standing to walk away. "And don't worry. I don't hold your choice against you. I understand why you made it."

As he walked away the cousins all looked at one another.  None of them quite understood what had just happened. None of that had gone according to plan. Fíli was not supposed to have calmly accepted the wrongs they had committed. He was supposed to have raged and told them they were lower than the slime that grew in the dark recesses of caves. Only Dwalin had an inkling as to what had just happened, and he wished that he didn't. As Fíli's eyes moments before flashed across his mind once more, he knew why the flatness had been familiar. He'd seen it before, not on Fíli but on another cousin. Kíli had been right all along. Fíli wasn't as strong as they'd believed him to be. He'd been as fragile as steel before the quench and they, in their attempt to temper him, had revealed a flaw in his forging—also their doing—and shattered him in the dousing process.

Ringing in his mind was one, astonishing, thought, _Kíli was right._

 


	50. Revelations and Agreements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up for those of you that don't read the length of chapters in notifications, this one is a beast . . . like a 5K beast. There was just no place to cut it :/

Before that thought had even finished ringing in Dwalin's head, he was on his feet, following after the blonde heir with a purpose. He heard his own brother call his name, but he knew he didn't have time to stay and answer questions; not if he was to avert disaster. He almost laughed at the irony of the situation. How many times had he told Kíli to give his brother space and time to process things only to do the exact opposite now? _Perhaps Kíli did know Fíli better than we gave him credit for,_ Dwalin thought, still astounded that Kíli had been right about Fíli's fragility.

"Fíli," he called, his voice both sharper and more desperate than he'd intended, but it had the desired effect. The young heir stopped and turned to look at him, his face impassive. And Dwalin felt suddenly nauseated. After being spoken to so sharply, sick though it was to miss it, Fíli _should_ have looked scolded. Wrong as it was, Fíli _should_ have been attempting to apologize, even if he'd done nothing. He found that it was rather disconcerting to see the lad so calm after such news. He'd halfway expected rage but not this . . . emptiness.

"Fíli," Dwalin began again, pausing to take a deep breath and attempt to find the right words, knowing from experience the damage that a wrong word at a time like this could do. "Fíli, lad, I think we need to talk about what you just heard."

"Why?" Fíli asked, his voice level, devoid of emotion.

"Because you should _need_ to," Dwalin replied. "That had to be upsetting to hear; that those you'd loved and trusted had betrayed you."

"No," Fíli said shaking his head, a small smile on his face even if it didn't reach his eyes. "I don't feel betrayed." He couldn't find the right words to explain his relief and was attempting to when Dwalin said something that awoke anger in him once more.

"You _should_ ," Dwalin snapped, reaching for Fíli's shoulders only to have his hands batted away and to be glared at with such fire he was surprised he wasn't incinerated.

"Why?" Fíli snapped. "Because _you_ say I should? This is the first thing in my life to make sense in ages. I never understood why you were so . . . so complimentary about my failures but now I see. It was so that Uncle wouldn't suspect that you were using me as a shield to protect him from his memories."

"Fíli, I—"

"Don't apologize," Fíli cut Dwalin off. "There's no reason to." Dwalin nodded, he'd known that what they'd done was unforgivable, but he'd felt that they owed the lad the truth. So Fíli's next words shocked him.

"You don't need to," Fíli continued, his tone level once more.  "There's nothing to apologize for. You chose my Uncle, the King, over a useless, unworthy prince. Anyone would have done the same. It would have been irresponsible to do anything else."

"No," Dwalin disagreed, his voice harsh. "It was wrong. And we've always known it." It was on the tip of Fíli's tongue to ask if they knew it was wrong why they'd done it, but years of curbing his ruder thoughts won out and he never voiced it. Instead he shook his head.

"Don't disagree with me on this, lad," Dwalin said before Fíli could speak. "We should never have cosseted Thorin at the cost of you. Not when you have the potential to be a more brilliant king than he is. If you can gain a bit of confidence, which you'd have it if wasn't for us, if we'd just been strong enough to tell Thorin . . . " Dwalin trailed off, closing his eyes and bowing his head. "We failed you Fíli. And not by accident. We planned it. And you'd be right to be furious with us. You _should_ feel furious at us. This emptiness, this calm acceptance .  . . you may think we expect it and are trying to please us even now but . . . you _need_ to feel _something_ , Fíli. And it doesn't have to be rage or hatred or betrayal. Confusion, loss, relief, _anything_ is better than nothing.

"Do you understand, Fíli?" Dwalin asked, gripping Fíli's shoulders and shaking him slightly. "Even if you don't think it's something we'll like or that you _should_ feel, it's important that you feel _something._ Don't shut down. Don't block off your emotions. No good will come of it, lad. You don't have to believe me. If you want another opinion ask you uncle what happened after his brother's death. Ask Thorin what comes from attempting to feel nothing. Ask him and then decide if this is really the future you want for yourself." Seeing the thoughts beginning to churn within Fíli's head, Dwalin released him.

"I'll give you some space now," the older dwarf said, turning and walking away. "Once you've thought it through, I'll still be there. If you want me." As Dwalin disappeared into the woods, Fíli only had one thought in his head; his uncle had shut away his emotions and that had lead to all that followed. As easy as the emptiness was, as simple as it was to feel nothing, could he do that to the others. His Uncle, Kíli, Mother, didn't they deserve more from him than emptiness. Worthless as he was, the memory of his mother's gentle hands as she'd braided his hair the last time he'd seen her caused an ache to form in his chest. She wanted him, imperfect and worthless though he was. She wanted him and he owed it to her to not make the same mistakes as his uncle. Painful though it was, he would feel it; the betrayal, the anger, the hurt. Dwalin had been right; these were emotions he _should_ feel and even if he still believed they'd been right, he would still do what was expected of him. He would feel the appropriate emotions and treat those responsible appropriately. After all, he owed the person who truly loved him no less than to try. It wouldn't due to hurt her yet again with his own weakness.

With the decision to feel came sadness and disappointment. Even though what he'd just learned had been a confirmation of what he'd always known, it hurt to know that he'd never fooled anyone. Despite his best efforts, they'd seen the truth. They'd seen his weaknesses and failures. Knowing that no matter how hard he tried he couldn't hide his true nature, his ineptitude, it hurt.  But at the same time, he welcomed it. This pain, it felt right. After all, it wasn't as if he'd earned anything else.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Kíli heaved a deep sigh as he sank down onto the steps of Beorn's giant side-porch. He leaned back against a post and closed his eyes, attempting to make sense of what had just happened. Fíli had just denounced him as kin. That much was clear, but what shocked him the most about it was that it didn't hurt, not really. Initially he'd been angry, confused, hurt, but now . . . even though only a few brief moments had passed, he didn't feel any of those things.

Hadn't Fíli been saying for days now that things could never go back to how they once were? Even though Kíli had clung to a foolish hope that with enough time and effort they could. Once more, he'd disregarded what his brother was saying, what he _needed_ , in favor of his own selfish desires. Fíli'd been right not to trust him. After all, how could he expect his brother to trust him when he'd been the first one to break trust? He knew that even if it wouldn't have solved everything, things would have been better for everyone if he'd never disowned his brother. Maybe, if that hadn't happened things wouldn't have gone so far from salvation.

Looking back now, he could see all his mistakes, taunting him like pyrite after hours of labor thinking that it was gold that had been found. His foolishness and inexperience had led to him making the worst errors of his life. Of course Fíli had never sided with the Goblins to kill his uncle, any fool would have seen that, even without knowing his brother. And knowing Fíli as he claimed to, it should have been glaringly obvious. When had his brother ever shown aspirations to the throne? If anything, he'd shown hatred, even fear, towards his position. He never would have tried to kill their uncle. In fact, being forced to torture their uncle would have probably hurt his soft-mannered brother more than Kíli could ever understand if his behavior that followed was any indication. For Fíli, who rarely raised his voice or put himself forward, to be forced to do something so public and controversial . . .  it was a miracle that he'd been able to do it in the first place.

 _No_ , Kíli mentally corrected, _it wasn't a miracle. He had something he valued more than himself to keep him going. He did it for me. To keep me safe._

He felt his shoulders sag as the thought that it had all been for him, everything both his uncle and Fíli had put themselves through and he'd behaved abominably towards them both. His uncle and his brother, they had both sacrificed so much for his sake and he'd publicly disowned one of them and then mentally cut ties, temporarily, with the other. It was no wonder that Fíli wanted little to nothing to do with him. He couldn't blame him, in fact, in his position he knew from experience that he wouldn't have been so subtle in his rejection of kinship. He supposed that he should be glad for his brother's more subdued nature. At least he'd been spared the pain of hearing the words spoken aloud. With what Fíli had done there was still room for ambiguity, unlike his own disowning of Fíli. It was with a wry smile that he thought that he might just owe Fíli a thank you for his subtlety.

Almost as if summoned by the thought, Fíli walked out of the woods, a pensive expression on his face. He seemed so lost in thought that Kíli wondered if Fíli was seeing anything that wasn't in his head at all. He had his answer when the blonde changed course slightly so that he was walking towards Kíli's porch rather than the main stairs into the house. He couldn't help the wariness he felt as Fíli grew closer, part of him hoping that Fíli would say the words to make it official so he knew where they stood while most of him prayed that Fíli would show him more mercy than that.

He needn't have worried. The dagger was the farthest thing from Fíli's mind as he made his way towards his brother. He was still feeling shock at what he'd just learned from his cousins. He just couldn't wrap his head around how they had all seen through his ruse so easily and chosen his uncle over him. he still couldn't fault them on their choice, but he couldn't understand how he'd never seen that they knew and why they'd never told him. Life would have been so much easier if he'd known he was fooling no one. Even though he knew that Kíli wouldn't understand, he needed to talk to someone and didn't want Bilbo to know that even his own kin had found him worthless. Selfish though it was to keep something like this from someone he counted as a friend, he wanted to have one person other than his mother that believed he wasn't worthless.

"They all knew," Fíli said without preamble as he sat beside Kíli on Beorn's side porch. "They all knew."

"Knew what?" Kíli asked, dread stirring within him as he thought about who or what his brother was talking about. He could only think of one thing but surely they hadn't told him. No. Kíli'd asked them not to. Surely they hadn't done it. Couldn't they see just how fragile Fíli still was? That he only had the false stability of deep snow. Did they want to be the rock that caused the avalanche?

"About Uncle. About me," Fíli said, bending so that his elbows were on his knees and his hands hanging between them and turning his head slightly to look at Kíli, his blue eyes full of confusion and pain. Kíli nodded with a sigh. He'd feared as much. He wasn't sure if it was a good sign or not that Fíli seemed calm after learning such terrible news.

"Who told you?" he asked softly, not missing the way that Fíli flinched at his question.

"All of them," Fíli replied with a shrug before his tone turned suspicious. "You don't seem surprised." Kíli made a noncommittal noise in his throat and looked away, hoping that for once Fíli's sharp mind would miss the truth and he wouldn't have to break his heart further.

"You knew, didn't you?" Fíli said, sounding hurt again. Kíli swallowed heavily and nodded, still unable to look at his brother. "How long?"

"How long what?" Kíli asked, refusing to give Fíli more information than he had and wanting clarification so that he could answer without revealing anything he didn't already know. "How long have I known? How long have they?"

"You," Fíli said coolly, wondering just how long his brother had known that he was useless. Had he known before the quest? "Though I wouldn't say no to knowing how long they've known."

"A few days," Kíli sighed. "I found out the day after . . . well, you know."

"And you didn't _tell_ me?"  Fíli snarled, angered that Kíli hadn't thought to let him know he wasn't fooling anyone. Kíli didn't miss the warning there but there was no way to say what he had to without angering his brother. "What didn't think I needed to know?"

"You were so upset. And you'd just started to calm down again," Kíli said trying to placate his brother. "I . . . I didn't want to upset you further. So . . . I kept it to myself. I _was_ going to tell you."

"When, Kíli?" Fíli demanded. "When you got around to it? When _you_ decided I was stable enough to be worthy of the knowledge. Who are _you_ to keep things like that from me? What makes you think you have the right?"

"I'm your brother," Kíli said simply, "by blood even if you won't claim me now. I'll always do what I think is best for you." Fíli scoffed.

"What's best for me?!" Fíli snapped, his feelings of worthlessness paling in comparison to such a blatant lie. "Kíli, you have _never_ done what was best for me. You've done what was best for yourself and if it happened to work for me, well, that was a happy coincidence. You have _always_ been the most _selfish_ thing. And I kinda get it. I do. Growing up, Thorin's entire world revolved around you. Never me. Not that I blame him, mind you, but I _never_ had that kind of devotion from anyone. Not even Mother. You may think I'm her favorite but she still loves you just as much."

"Uncle loves you too, Fíli," Kíli whispered, unable to refute his brother's claims. And it hurt that he couldn't. But as he probed his memories he couldn't think of a single thing he had done that benefited Fíli at any kind of cost to himself. Once he would have argued that his entire world revolved around his brother, but looking back, even just on the quest he could think of many times he had forsaken his brother's company for his uncle's. Even if he hadn't said what he had in Goblin Town, he could see why Fíli had decided to disown him. He'd never been a very good brother.

"Did _he_ tell you that?" Fíli snorted, wondering why his uncle was still bothering to explain himself when he'd been told it was unnecessary as Fíli understood what had been done and why. "Of course he would say that. He tried to tell me the same thing. Says he's sorry. As if that makes it better. After all, he feels like he has to apologize to attempt to clear his own conscience. But he doesn't understand. I don't need to hear it. There's nothing he—"

"He _is_ sorry," Kíli said, cutting him off, unable to hear that there was nothing his uncle could do to regain Fíli's trust and speaking slowly as though talking to a child. "He's heartbroken over what happened. He never meant to do it. He said as much, to me and to you. He wants to make it up to you. Fíli, Uncle's not well. His mind—"

"He shouldn't be!" Fíli snapped. "Kíli, all I _ever_ wanted from him was a _hint_ of the love that he gave you. Mother always said it was because I was his heir and he was trying to 'prepare me to rule'," he paused to give a short, bitter laugh. "But we both know the truth now. We both know that he could never love me. And we know why. I wonder what she'll say when she finds out what was really going on." _That he chose to love you because he **knew** I was unworthy and only told himself that it was due to his brother._

"Um . . . Fee . . . she knows," Kíli said quietly, cutting off his brother's rant. "Mother knows. She . . . she's always known." Kíli had expected incredulity but he hadn't expected what happened. Fíli struck him. Hard. Right across the mouth with the back of his left hand. The blow left Kíli's ears ringing and when he ran the back of his hand across his mouth he was not surprised to see his own blood coating it.

"You know," Kíli snapped. "I am _really_ getting tired of you _assaulting_ me when you don't like what I have to say. You say that words hurt, well, damn it, so do fists, Fíli!"

"Then don't lie to me," Fíli breathed, his voice deathly calm as he glared at his brother. It had been bad enough to hear from his cousins, but Fíli had convinced himself that he'd been so shocked that his hearing must have been mistaken. His mother hadn't orchestrated the whole thing. It had to be a mistake. She couldn't know just how weak he was. But now Kíli was corroborating their story.

"I'm not," Kíli said simply, his brown eyes boring into Fíli, no lie in them. "Balin and Dwalin know. Glóin and Óin know. And _Mother_ knows. They have _all_ always known." Kíli had thought that he was prepared to defend himself from the blow that he knew was coming but it never came. Instead Fíli was suddenly in motion, launching himself bodily at his brother and knocking him to the ground. Kíli cried out as his back hit the ground and reopened his wounds yet again. He tried to shift his weight to take the force off his shoulder blades but Fíli was merciless. He reached up to try to grasp Fíli's shirt and use it to dislodge his brother but Fíli saw the move coming and grabbed his wrist, slamming it to the ground beside Kíli's head and earning another sharp cry from his brother.

"Take it back," Fíli breathed, his eyes wild and desperate, unable to take the idea that his mother knew. "What you said about Mother. Take it back. She didn't know."

"I can't," Kíli said, his chest aching with the pain he could see in Fíli at the knowledge that their cousins shouldn't have shared just yet. "I only spoke the truth. I can't take back the truth, Fíli. No matter how much I wish I could." Fíli's eyes narrowed and he squeezed Kíli's wrist, using his greater strength to force the hand backwards.

"Take it back or—"

" Or what?!" Kíli demanded softly,  glaring up at Fíli. "You'll break my hand? Then break it. I won't take back the truth so break it. Not like I can draw my bow at the moment anyway so break it. If you think that will make you feel better, do it. Break my wrist and see if that fixes our broken relationships." Fíli applied a bit more pressure but even though Kíli's face contorted with pain he didn't cry out or retract his story. Abruptly realizing what he was doing, Fíli released Kíli's wrist and climbed off his brother before turning away from him.

"Kíli, I . . . "Fíli began, feeling sick to his stomach at what he'd almost done, only to be cut off.

"No, you're not," Kíli said, simply, rubbing his wrist with a grimace but not getting up from the ground. "You're not sorry because you're not done feeling angry and betrayed yet. You may think I don't, but I _do_ know you. I know you well enough to know that this is just like the apology you tried to give me in the clearing when you cut me. You realize you've made a mistake and you don't want me to tell anyone but you're not actually sorry."

"But I—" Fíli began, attempting to tell Kíli that he truly was sorry. That he'd overreacted and explain everything that had happened that day and hope for understanding, but once more Kíli cut him off.

"When you are," Kíli continued, ignoring his brother's attempts to speak. "When you are, I will accept it. Know that. Even after you cut me, struck me and tried to break my wrist, I still love you. You're my brother. I'll always see you that way, even if you don't anymore. Nothing and no one can change that. But I won't accept it yet. Not when you don't mean it." With that, he stood with a groan and turned to walk away only to stop when he heard his name and turn back to see his brother staring at him with remorseful  blue eyes.

"Tell me," Fíli said, regret showing in the set of his shoulders, "would you actually have let me?"

"It's not like I could have stopped you," Kíli replied. "But yeah. I'd have let you."

"I nearly killed you," Fíli muttered. At that, Kíli scoffed. Yes, Fíli had almost broken his wrist. And that _would_ have _hurt_ , but it wouldn't have killed him. And what had been done that morning . . . it had hurt but it wasn't going to kill him either.

"No you didn't," he replied with a laugh, turning away once more amused and a bit wounded that his brother thought him so weak. Until Fíli's voice caused him to turn once more at the depth of regret in it.

"Not just now," Fíli replied softly, looking up with haunted blue eyes. "On the cliff, the other night, when we were cornered."

"No, you didn't," Kíli said slightly more forcefully, and shaking his head. "We fought but . . . you didn't try to kill me."

"No," Fíli agreed, sighing heavily, closing his eyes before looking at the brother who's life he'd nearly ended once more. "But I'd agreed to do it."

"Agreed with who?!" Kíli asked, feeling like he was in a nightmare. There was no way that there had been an agreement to end his life. No one wanted him dead, even if they might have had ample cause too after how he'd been behaving lately.

"Uncle," Fíli said, looking away, unable to see the hurt his words would cause but resolved that he would never keep something from Kíli again in a failed attempt to protect him. "He asked . . . _I_ agreed that if . . . if the line broke— _if_ the orcs broke through—that in that case . . . if that happened, I would take both your life and my own before I allowed us to be captured and . . . and tortured again."

"No," Kíli breathed, shaking his head, his eyes growing distant as he realized that the conversation between his brother and uncle that had so confused him at the time now made terrible sense. As his uncle's voice wafted back from his memory, he now understood the gruesome promise that had been struck between them.

_"Listen to me, both of you. Capture is not an option. Not for you. We will remain free or die trying. You cannot allow yourselves to be captured. If the line fails . . . if Azog breaks through—" Thorin had said._

_"I will do what I must to avoid capture," Fíli had replied._

He hadn't understood at the time but now . . . now he knew only too well why they had both looked so grim. His hands felt numb at the idea and he felt himself sink to the ground, needing to sit before he fell, his very vision going momentarily dim. He distantly heard his brother call his name but he was too lost in his own thoughts to answer. Fíli had been willing to kill him before killing himself. He'd been willing to bar himself from the afterlife twice over rather than have Kíli captured. As hard as it was to accept, it wasn't unprecedented. Even Dwalin had said, _'if we can't escape them or defeat them, I'll commit suicide before I allow them to take me.'_ Fíli had intended to kill him to save him the pain that Dwalin had feared and predicted. It was with that though that he had another, startling, revelation.

"That was why," Kíli breathed, his voice sounding far smaller than he'd meant for it too, looking up at Fíli where his brother kneeling anxiously beside him. "The dagger this morning. You were going to use it to kill me, weren't you? That's why you didn't want me to touch it."

"Kíli," Fíli replied shaking his head, not wanting to discuss what had happened that morning.

"Wasn't it?" Kíli repeated, his tone far shriller than he was used to. " _That_ was what you were going to use to kill me. It's long enough to do it. Would have been quick, painless even if you his the right spot. I might not even have ever known it was you." He felt tears springing to his eyes at what could have been.

"But I didn't," Fíli said quickly, his voice desperate as he grasped  Kíli's shoulders and stared into his brown eyes. "I didn't do it."

"But you would have," Kíli replied simply, his hand coming up to cup his brother's cheek, smiling slightly as Fíli closed his eyes and leaned into it, just as he'd known he would. "You would have killed me to spare me from capture. Damning yourself in the process." Fíli nodded, swallowing heavily. He would have done it. It would have broken his heart and his soul but he would have done it. He was shocked when rather than raging at him, Kíli laughed. It was a short, mirthless sound, but it was a laugh.

"We're a mess, aren't we?" Kíli muttered. "I disowned you over attempting to save my life and . . ." He paused to laugh again. "And I see just how much you love me in you agreeing to end it." With it put like that, Fíli had no choice but to laugh as well, his coming out more hysterically than even he'd known he was capable of but he found that once he'd started laughing, he couldn't stop.

"It's not that funny," Kíli said, looking at him out of the corner of his eye, one side of his lip pulling up in disdain.

"No," Fíli agreed, unable to stop, even as he admitted that he had no reason to continue. "But, what else can I do. We just . . . what else is there?"

"I don't know," Kíli sighed. "What do we do now? I know you don't hate me but we both know that you don't trust me, and I don't blame you. Not after what I did in the caves. That . . . even though it was a misunderstanding this morning . . . I finally understand what that felt like for you and I'm so sorry I put you through it. I know it's not enough, never will be," he said raising his hand to halt Fíli's protests, "but it's true. So . . . what do we do now?"

"We . . .we go on," Fíli replied, his eyes brightening for the first time that morning, tentative hope shining in the blue depths. "We . . . both of us know we can't go back, so we go on. We keep trying, keep learning and  . . . maybe, together, we can fix what was broken."

"No," Kíli disagreed, a soft smile reminiscent of their mother on his face. "We can't fix it. And . . . and I don't want to."

"Oh," Fíli murmured, pulling back at the rejection. He should have known that Kíli didn't want to fix their relationship. Why would he when it had all been Fíli's fault in the first place and then he'd tried to take his life. Fíli wouldn't want a relationship with someone like that.

"Hey," Kíli said, placing his hand on his brother's chin and turning him back towards him, recognizing self-pity when he saw it and knowing he needed to say a bit more to stop that before it went too far. "I don't want to fix it because it never worked. Even when we though it did. It was always weak, poorly forged, and broke at the first test. I want to remake it. Stronger, better, made to last into the ages. Are you with me?" One look at the fire burning in his brother's brown eyes and Fíli could see that he spoke the truth. he wanted to try again. Inexplicably, he still wanted to try, despite all Fíli's flaws, despite all his mistakes, Kíli still wanted him.

"Yes," Fíli agreed, grasping the back of Kíli's neck and pressing their foreheads together. "Yes, let's work to remake it." He felt his brother's hand grasp his own neck and for the first time in ages, felt hope begin in his chest. Perhaps, just maybe, the mistakes of the past weren't indelible after all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some of this chapter has been written for, oh, six months or so. I hope it went together alright. I think it did, but I would love to hear your opinions on the matter.


	51. Still Broken and Horse Play

They stayed like that for a time, both of them enjoying their new found closeness until Fíli broke away, grabbing his right hand with a grimace.

"Fíli?" Kíli asked, looking at his brother in concern. "You alright?"

"No," the blonde replied, kneading at his arm above the bandage and looking all the world as though he'd like nothing more than to rip it off, while his face contorted. He let out a hiss though his teeth. "My hand," he broke off, swallowing heavily. It was on the tip of Kíli's tongue to tell Fíli that it was what he deserved for assaulting family, but he bit back the unkind thought and, instead, replied much more civilly.

"What can I do?" he asked, it made his own stomach clench when Fíli's eyes opened, pleading with him to do something. Especially when he knew that there was nothing that he could really do. He knew nothing about broken bones, except that moving them probably wasn't a good idea. Which Fíli _should_ have known too.

"Get Óin," Fíli choked out. "Bilbo. Anyone. I just . . ."

"I'll get help," Kíli cut him off, forcing himself to his feet and walking off, unable to watch Fíli breaking down. "I'll be right back." He turned, unsure just where to begin looking for his cousin only for the dwarf in question, along with his own brother and Balin, to break the cover of the trees, headed for the house. With a sigh of relief he headed for them as quickly as he could manage.

"Óin," he called, loudly enough that he knew his cousin would hear. He didn't miss the way all three of them tensed at the sound of his voice, but he pushed it aside in favor of doing what he'd been sent for.

"Kíli, lad, we owe—" Balin began, his tone grave but Kíli cut him off.

"Not now, later," he said before turning back to Óin.

"You need to come with me," he said, attempting to convey the urgency of the situation to his cousin. "Now. Fíli needs you."

"What happened to your lip?" Óin asked, not having heard a word that Kíli had said but reading from his stance that something important was happening.

"Fíli," Kíli replied impatiently, grabbing the healer's hand. "But it's not important. Come with me. I think he broke his hand again." As he drug his cousin back towards his brother he could hear the older dwarf grumbling about the pace he was setting and couldn't help but agree. He was trying to hide it, but he could feel the limp in his step as his back protested the position he forced it into but he pushed it aside, not wanting the others to see and attempted a more normal lope.  It took only a moment to return to Fíli where he was curled around his hand on the stairs and Kíli gratefully sank back to the step beside his brother.

"I brought Óin," he said reaching up to Fíli's shoulder, hating himself when he flinched as Fíli uncoiled—withdrawing in anticipation of a blow. Especially when Fíli looked up at them both with the same expression he'd worn moments before. As soon as Óin saw those pleading eyes, he felt that he was looking at the same dwarf seventy years ago, before everything had come to light, when he'd fallen and scraped his knees and come for help. It made his very soul ache at the trust Fíli still had in him to make everything better, even after what he'd just been told. Even after their betrayal of him, the lad still trusted him to make the pain go away.

"Let me see it, lad," Óin ordered, softly but firmly in a tone he'd perfected of years of working with dwarves at their worst and, like all the rest, Fíli complied, extending his hand to his cousin and allowing the other dwarf to unwrap the bandages. He couldn't contain his cry when the old healer applied gentle pressure to his hand, checking the alignment of the bones. He hadn't looked the day before, but seeing it now he was shocked by the widespread bruise covering the back of his hand.

"They're still in place," Óin said after a moment already beginning to re-splint and rewrap the hand.

"Then why does it hurt?" Fíli asked and the older dwarf and fighting the urge to draw his hand away as his cousin tightened the wrappings to provide a bit more stability.

The healer shook his head with a sad laugh before he looked at Fíli and said simply, "It's still broken, lad. You can't go trying to use it like it's not. Especially not if you want it to heal. If you don't think you can remember, I can always tie it to you—"

"I'll remember. I won't do it again," Fíli promised, his voice far too small to be coming from a dwarf his age. "Durin's beard, this hurts! I know it's still broken but can't you make it stop?"

" Maybe not all the way but least in part. Temporarily, mind you," Óin replied standing and offering out his left hand for the young dwarf to grasp and pulling him to his feet when he did. "I can give you a bit of the tea I gave your uncle last night. It should help."

"Anything," Fíli replied, cradling his broken hand once more.

"Let's get it then," the healer said patting the heir on his uninjured side and setting out for the front of the house once more. They'd only gone a few steps when Fíli realized that his brother wasn't with them.

"Kíli?" he called, turning to see that the brunette was still sitting on the steps where he had been moments before. "Aren't you coming?"

"No," Kíli replied, shaking his head and offering his brother a smile he didn't feel in an attempt to erase the worry he could see in his blue eyes. "I just want a bit more fresh air. It's been far too many leagues since we bathed and it's a bit ripe in there. Quite frankly, I don't know how Beorn hasn't dumped us all in a creek, with what he and Gandalf have said about how well his nose works. I'll be right here. Don't worry." As he'd hoped, Fíli's face split into a faint smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"We do stink at the moment, don't we?" he said before his smile fell once more and he continued. "Fear and pain will do that to a person, won't they. I'd always taken it as a joke when people said they could smell fear but . . . well, you really can, can't you?"

"Fíli," the younger sighed, hating how something so light as needing a bath had been turned into something so dark again.

"Sorry," Fíli said. "That was a bit morbid, wasn't it?" Kíli didn't answer, but he didn't need to; his answer was in his crooked smile. Fíli shook his head, attempting to clear the memories of what had happened and followed Óin towards the house. As he did, the thought that he might ask Beorn if there was a bath around wafted into his mind. Perhaps a nice warm soak would help him clear his head and his heart of what had happened in the last few days.

**ooOO88OOoo**

As soon as he was certain that his brother wasn't coming back, Kíli was on his feet heading away from the house. He'd heard Bilbo telling the others about a stream he and Óin had found the day before and knew that none of the others had yet made their way towards it that day. If he was quick, perhaps, he could change his bandages and have a bath before anyone else thought to go.

The stream itself wasn't hard to find, the trouble came with attempting to remove his tunic. Try as he might, he couldn't get his arms over his head to pull the tunic off. He briefly contemplated hooking it on the branch of a tree and attempting to back out of it before rejecting the idea as he couldn't figure out how he'd dress once he was done bathing.  There was no alternative. He'd have to remove the bandages and bathe with his clothing on. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do.

He took a deep breath, knowing that his next actions would be uncomfortable if not outright painful. He could barely force both of his hands to the knot that Balin had tied and he couldn't see it. Determination making him desperate, he closed his eyes and forced his fingers to feel the directions of the cloth and unravel the knot. He couldn't stop his satisfied smirk and laugh when the ends of the wrapping came free.  His smirk rapidly disappeared at the effort it took to remove the bandage from his chest and the sharpness of pulling cloth that had stuck to flesh.

Even though he'd been expecting some of  it, the sheer amount crimson and rust color on the cloth was a bit shocking. Shaking his head and dismissing it as old drainage, he bent to rinse the cloth in the stream before hanging it in the sun to dry. He wasn't sure how he would go about rewrapping his wounds, but it seemed foolish to him to simply throw away a good strip of bandage cloth. That done, he kicked off his boots and removed his socks, treating them to the same quick wash before hanging them as well. He briefly considered removing his trousers before deciding to leave them on, that way if anyone did happen upon him he could more easily explain away continuing to wear his tunic.

As he made to step into the stream he prepared himself for the anticipated feeling of the water hitting his wounds, but what he couldn't have been ready for was how good it felt. With a pleased hum, he sank to his neck in the water, allowing the cool flow to soothe the throbbing in his back for the first time in days. More than once in his life he'd said that a bath was the best feeling in the world, but now he knew that he'd never known what he was talking about. _Nothing_ in his life had ever felt so wonderful as that water did at that moment.

He wasn't sure how long he sat undisturbed in the creek, but it would never have felt long enough, even had he remained there until the end of the Age. He was almost sad to hear the sounds of some of the company moving through the woods towards the stream.

"Nearly there," he heard Bilbo's clear voice saying. "It's just right over here." He heard a rumbling complaint about the ability of hobbits to find streams that sounded a bit like Dwalin before forcing himself out of the water. If it had just been Bilbo he might have been willing to share, but he had no desire to spend time with his cousins, especially as they had nearly ruined everything by refusing to listen to him. Getting back to his feet was easier than it had been in some time, though it was still more difficult than he was accustomed to it being. Knowing he had little time before they were upon him, he gathered his now dry bandages and socks and pushed them into his boots and set off towards the house, gingerly picking the path that looked the least riddled with stick and sharp rocks. It wouldn't do to shove wet feet and pants into dry boots, after all. He froze as he nearly crashed into Bofur as they both pushed aside a large bush.

"Oy, lads!" the miner called. "Looks like Kíli found the stream."

"Fell in, more like," Nori said, joining them and pulling on the young heir's wet sleeve. "Wasn't once enough for you?" Kíli felt his cheeks color at the casual reference to the disastrous incident with the pony and the flooded stream on the east side of the Misty Mountains and he was still trying to think of a retort when Bilbo saved him.

"Once would have been more than enough for anyone, I would think," the hobbit said, his tone clearly saying the topic was closed. "I, for one, and just glad that one of you lot knows about laundry."

"jumping in a creek in your clothes is laundry, is it then, Master Baggins?" Bofur asked, a smirk on his face that, even though it wasn't directed at him, had Kíli backing up in anticipation of mischief. "I can think of a certain hobbit that is in dire need of fresh laundry."

"Now, see here," Bilbo began, hol4ding up his hands and backing away seeing it for what it was as well. However, unlike Kíli, Bilbo backed straight into Nori who placed hands on his shoulders to hold him in place, "Now, Bofur, I never said that's how one _should_ go about doing laundry. Just that—" Bilbo's babble was cut off as he was lifted off the ground and bodily hauled towards the stream.

"I say!" the hobbit was squeaking indignantly. "Put me down this instant!" Kíli winced for the creature, knowing exactly what such a command would lead to.

"As you wish," Bofur smirked before tossing the irate hobbit into the creek. The young heir started forward, intending to save Bilbo—remembering something the hobbit had once said about not knowing how to swim—only for the irate hobbit popped out of the water, looking all the world like a drowned rat, shaking his finger and already beginning to lecture Bofur, who bowed in mock-contrition causing them both to burst into laughter.

"Help me out, then," Bilbo said, holding up his hand for the miner to take, the latter not seeing that Nori had snuck up behind him. As soon as Bilbo had a good grip, Nori gave Bofur a shove and—boots, hat and all—the miner found himself beside the hobbit in the water.

"Not so funny now, is it?" Bilbo said smirking in turn at the water-logged dwarf beside him.

"Right hilarious," Bofur replied, grinning before kicking Bibo's feet out from under him once more. When Bilbo came back up laughing, Kíli shook his head and turned to go. He was content that no one was going to be drowned, by accident at any rate, but didn't feel up to hanging around for rough play. Before their splashes and laughter faded, Kíli couldn't help but wish that Fíli and his uncle had been there to hear it.


	52. Indelible Marks and Balance

Over the next few days, Kíli got his wish. Fíli and Thorin saw many moments of peace as the days passed with little to mark the time save the rising and falling of the sun. The majority of the company existed in a daze of relaxation and renewal that they hadn't felt since Rivendell. And if there was a certain distance and tension between Thorin, Fíli, Kíli and their cousins that had not existed previously, well, those who didn't know wrote it off as an increased level of the discomfort they all felt at seeing their King in such a fragile state. For those that _were_ aware of what had transpired recently, however, they had no misconceptions about what the new coolness of their King and his heirs meant about their positions within the company and their society at large.

It had especially been driven home for Glóin when Thorin first emerged from his room and stumbled on a bit of uneven flooring. The red-headed warrior had reached out to grasp Thorin's arm to steady him and, in an attempt to avoid his touch, Thorin had pulled his arm aside with such force that it had torn a pained gasp from his chest. At the sound, Glóin reluctantly withdrew from his cousin and allowed Bofur  and Fíli to stabilize him before moving to sit beside his brother and the sons of Fundin. He knew that the sadness he saw in Dwalin's dark eyes was mirrored in his own as he saw his position supporting Thorin usurped by a _miner_ from Ered Luin.

And Glóin wasn't the only one to find that his role had been taken by another. Óin, too, had found the position he had occupied for so many years filled by one with not a drop of royal blood in his veins. In fact, the upstart in his role was not even a _dwarf._ No, he had been forced to sit by and watch as Kíli had come out and approached the hobbit.

"Uncle wants you," he'd said.

"Whatever for?" the hobbit had replied, his tone and face showing a shock that Óin knew he didn't feel. Maybe the others had missed the way he'd interfered in Goblin Town and then how he had been the one to ingrain himself with Fíli but Óin hadn't. He also hadn't missed the way the hobbit always claimed that he wasn't on this quest for the gold. Why else would he have come then? The hobbit would claim that it was for the adventure, but Óin wasn't certain he hadn't had a more sinister reason.  Hadn't he shown an _unhealthy_ concern for the line of Durin, especially their crown prince? Óin didn't voice his fears to anyone but it was with a knot of apprehension that he watched Kíli lead the burglar to the room where their  injured king lay for the hobbit to pick the herbs that would tend his wounds.

"And just what does a _hobbit_ know about tending wounds of war and torture?" he grumbled to himself, not realizing that he had spoken aloud.

"Jealousy doesn't become you, Cousin," Balin had muttered before turning back to the letter he was penning.

"It's not jealousy," Óin snapped. "The inexperience of that hobbit will kill him, mark my words."

"Bilbo knows enough to keep Thorin alive until this mess is settled," Balin said, his calm voice only serving to enrage the old healer even more.

"And what makes you think it will ever _be_ settled?" the healer retorted. In response, Balin only offered him a small smile, holding his letter aloft. While Óin couldn't read the body of the letter itself, the salutation at the top was clear; _Dís_.

"Past experience, my dear cousin," Balin responded before turning back to his letter to Dís, his expression turning somber once more as he resumed his previous train of thought. Óin left him to his machinations, praying to Mahal that Dís would have the same ability to handle her brother that she had once had.

**ooOO88OOoo**

In the end, Balin had been right. Through Bilbo's choice of herbs and Bofur, Fíli and Kíli's diligent care, Thorin healed quickly. Nearly a week after they had arrived, he was already pressuring them to leave.

"You are not well enough yet, Uncle," Fíli argued, his blue eyes not quite meeting Thorin's as he disagreed with him. While he had grown marginally bolder since he and Thorin had made their peace, he was still incredibly timid when it came to voicing a dissenting opinion, despite the effort to disagree gently rather than simply reject his ideas that Thorin had been making.

"I am," Thorin replied, trying to keep his tone level even though his pride was stung by his nephew telling him he was too weak to travel, true though it may have been. "I can stand all day if need be, I can walk, I can breathe. I am fit for travel." Fíli looked ready to agree when he was cut off, the tenor voice of their Burglar cutting through and effectively ending the argument for the time being.

"No," Bilbo said firmly, placing a hand in the middle of Thorin's chest, making sure to find an uninjured place, and pushing him back down on the pallet. "If _I_ can still put you back to bed then you are not ready to travel. A few more days will make little difference." Thorin wanted to argue that Bilbo had only put him down because he had allowed it, but with a sigh he relented. Bravado would accomplish little and he knew that they would both know that was all it was. He _had_ attempted to resist the hobbit but despite his greater size and strength had been unable to do so. He saw from the softening of the hobbit's expression that he saw Thorin's withdrawal from this battle and allowed it to pass rather than push for him to admit it. As much as he hated to admit it, Thorin was grateful when the hobbit offered him a hand seconds later.

"Sit up," Bilbo ordered gently, much more so than a dwarf would have when dealing with such a difficult patient, king or no. "I need to clean the cuts on your back." Thorin didn't know why the hobbit insisted on cleaning those _particular_ marks twice daily, they had been cleansed with salt within moments of their making, but he didn't resist. Instead, he allowed the hobbit to take his hand and for Fíli to assist him in sitting so that the hobbit had unrestricted access to the wounds.

What Thorin didn't realize was that Bilbo insisted on cleaning the wounds because, more so than the rest, they bothered him. The blue dye in the salt that the Goblin King had used had leached into Thorin's skin and the letters showed clearly, a cruel parody of a dwarven tattoo, on the skin. While he couldn't read the inscription, he knew it to be something mocking the Dwarf king and he was hoping, futilely he knew, to erase them. Fíli, however, knew what the letters said.

One of the first times he and Bilbo had worked to clean his uncle's wounds, he had taken them down and gone to Gandalf. The wizard had asked from where the letters had come and seemed genuinely sad when he had been told before sighing.

"It is only a rough translation, mind you, but they say 'wielded by one unworthy'," he said. "Are there more runes that would make sense of them?" Fíli shook his head. There were no other runes carved into his uncle's back, only a burn. A brand from the side of Orcrist. He didn't enlighten Gandalf on his newest realization but it stung his own pride, not to say what it would do to his uncle's, to know that the Goblin King had believed Thorin unworthy to wield a weapon that he despised. With that in mind, he never assisted Bilbo in cleaning that particular wound, choosing instead to tend one of the numerous others while the hobbit futilely attempted to scrub the dye from his uncle's skin.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Just as with the dye, other things had left indelible marks that time alone would be able to fade. Despite their good intentions, Fíli and Kíli had found that the act of becoming brothers once more was more difficult than they'd thought it would be. Things had changed between them to the point that neither of them was certain how to proceed. Kíli, who, for all his willfulness, had often looked to his brother for guidance was at a loss. Because Fíli, while he'd always been reserved, was now closed off. He would deny the change, but to Kíli it seemed as though Fíli was afraid that anything he said or did would be used against him. He seemed almost afraid to even _think_ lest Kíli dislike what was going on in his head.  But he needn't have worried. Kíli couldn't read him well enough at the moment to guess what was going on, let alone disagree with it. This walled-off creature was so unfamiliar that Kíli barely recognized him as his brother though he wore Fíli's face. And to Fíli, Kíli was little better.

Where before he'd been so brash and yet _honest_ in his words, now he chose them with care, each word coming slowly as he analyzed them to make sure they couldn't be misconstrued. Even a week ago, Fíli would have said that Kíli's cruel words were the worst thing imaginable from his brother, but this new carefulness, as though Kíli were afraid he would shatter at a cross word, hurt more. He knew he hadn't been calm and collected lately and that he'd overreacted more than once as the healing mark on Kíli's face testified to, but for his brother to have to go to such lengths as to change his basic personality . . . he wondered if he wasn't taking more than his due. Try as he might, he couldn't coax Kíli into being himself, his brother remained skittish as a hare and it made Fíli nervous as well, knowing that at any time that skittishness could switch into a more aggressive emotion.

What neither of them would admit, even to themselves, is that they _were_ both afraid of the other.  Kíli _was_ skittish, timid even, when it came to expressing something that he wasn't certain that Fíli would like and Fíli refused to give voice to anything that his brother might find objectionable, both so determined to keep the fragile peace between them that they were terrified of being themselves. Nights were little different. Though they lay together as they always had, and felt they now must, neither of them rested well until they separated and lay back-to-back in the darkness rather than tangled together. Though neither of them said it aloud, they both knew this could never last as it was; it was like attempting to forge cold steel, it would do nothing in the end but grow brittle and fragile as it resisted the forces exerted on it. However neither of them knew the other felt the same so held their peace and said nothing, hoping that perhaps the effort was providing the other with some comfort neither felt themselves.

It was readily apparent to any with eyes that neither of the boys were content with the way things were, but none intervened.  Those close enough to the situation, their cousins, knew their intrusion would not be welcome and the rest, they knew that something had occurred that they knew nothing about and felt that they had no place interfering in family business. The only exception to that was Bilbo. He had seen more than his fair share of family squabbles over the years, and true, they had never been instigated by something so serious as this but they had been nearly as bitter all the same. As he listened to the stilted interaction of the brothers one night he nearly interfered.

"I thought you didn't want to wear braids," Kíli was saying, his voice soft and his eyes showing his confusion at his brother's sudden change of mind.

"I was just angry," Fíli said, shaking his head bitterly, his tone full of self-recrimination. "I was only refusing to do it because they were the braids Uncle had asked me to wear all those years ago. I wanted to show him he had no hold over me. I was being a brat. It would please him to see our family's braids in my hair again. Will you do it for me?"

 _But what about what **you** want? _ Kíli wanted to ask, but stopped himself. Fíli seemed sure of what he wanted, a rare sight, and who was Kíli to question a decision as small as whether or not to braid his own hair. With a sigh and a gesture to the floor in front of him he answered.

"Sit," he instructed, the word terse. Fíli nodded his thanks, a small smile touching his lips but stopping before his blue eyes as he sat at his brother's feet.

"Besides," Fíli said turning, his head slightly to give Kíli better access to the hair above his ear, "I don't know how you stand it. All that loose hair about your shoulders, getting in your eyes. It's a safety hazard, it is." Kíli snorted but Fíli stiffened, realizing that he'd just said his brother's preferred hair-style was bad.

"Not that . . . I mean . . . if _you_ like it . . . it's," he stammered, trying to retract his words before they could start an argument. But this was nothing new, Kíli had heard it his entire life, he'd known that his brother believed it as well it was only now that Fíli actually had the experience to voice his opinion.

"I _do_ like it, Fee," Kíli said softly. "And it's only . . . never mind. I just prefer it this way." He'd been intending to remind his brother that, save for a few braids, their uncle wore his hair loose as did many of the others. And that it was a matter of personal preference and not up for debate before deciding that he did not want to start the argument that would follow and ending his statement.

When the silence had stretched uncomfortably long, Kíli spoke again, "When do you think we'll leave?"

"Soon," Fíli replied. "Uncle is itching to be moving again."

"Is he well enough?" Kíli asked, feeling bolder now that the topic was not on either of them.

"I don't know," Fíli sighed, wishing Kíli hadn't asked him that. He didn't want to say either way and be proven wrong. "He seems to think so."

"So we travel," Kíli whispered, tying off the first of the braids and moving on to the second.

"We travel," Fíli agreed before they lapsed into silence once more, the only sound between them the crackling of Beorn's great fire and the rasp of the comb as Kíli worked it through Fíli's hair. As Bilbo watched, he wanted nothing more than to sit beside them and moderate so that they could both say what was clearly burning away at them. When he rose to get a cup of water from the kettle for tea, Bofur leveled a glance at him.

"Let 'um be, laddie," he muttered. "They have to find their own path through this."

"I haven't the faintest—"

"Don't play the fool, Bilbo," Bofur sighed, taking a long draw on his pipe. "Not to me. I saw you watching the lads. It pains us all to see them so . . . so unstable, but they have to find their own balance. Just like bad rock. You can shore it up all you want but when the supports rot or rust then what? It finds its own rest and woe to anyone in the way, that's what. Give them time. We can't shore them up any longer. They'll find their own stability."

"And if they don't?" Bilbo asked, casting worried eyes to the two young dwarves.

"The woe betide us all," Bofur finished darkly, the ember in his pipe casting an eerie glow on his face as he puffed.


	53. The Quest Continues

Fíli had been right. They were only there another day before Thorin insisted they move on. The King still had difficulty moving his arms, but many of his wounds were beginning to close. He was also able to breathe a bit more freely and truly could remain on his feet for the duration of the day. Bilbo and Fíli, the only members of the company who might could have dissuaded him from travel, didn't have the heart to do so. Even if he wasn't battle-ready, he was _technically_ travel ready and they couldn't say for certain how long the rest of the journey would take as they had never taken it. Instead, they turned their attention to readying provisions with the gracious generosity of their host.

"Are you sure you can spare this much?" Fíli asked, eyeing the growing stock of honey cakes, dried berries, nuts and other non-perishable items Beorn and his animals were assembling for the company. "Winter's rapidly approaching and—"

"I would not give what I cannot spare," Beorn replied with a laugh. "There are many months before winter comes. My home is in a lower place than that which you are accustomed. It will be much time still before there is nothing to forage. Many of these are last year's stores. We will survive."

"I just—" Fíli began, intending to apologize for being an unplanned burden on the great Skin-Changer, but was cut off by his uncle's gentle hand on his arm.

"We thank you most deeply for your hospitality in our time of need," Thorin said, bowing his head to their host. "If ever you find yourself in need, the dwarves of Erebor will answer the call." Beorn smiled in response, the expression on his face saying clearly that he could foresee no need that would arise that he would call for that favor but he understood how rare such an offer was.

"Thank you for providing me and my kin a safe haven," Thorin continued. "Our histories will sing your praises."

"If you wish to thank me, keep me out of your histories," Beorn replied simply, the quiet words holding a hint of threat if the request wasn't honored. "I do like my privacy."

"So shall it be," Thorin replied, nodding. "I must take a short council with my cousins and then we will burden you no more," Thorin continued.

"Take what time you need," the Skin-Changer replied. "And may your gods lead your feet on a safe path." Thorin hummed in agreement and turned away. Fíli felt trepidation stir in his stomach as his uncle approached their cousins before barking, "Balin, Dwalin. A word. Now."

The brother's exchanged a glance, wondering why after a week without so much as glancing their direction Thorin would address them now. Knowing that they had no choice in the matter, they followed their king away from the company and into the thicket where they had spoken with Fíli earlier that week. The location made them nervous and they wondered if he had merely chosen it by chance but when Thorin turned, it was everything they could do not to flinch back from the pain and anger that filled his blue eyes.

"There are things between us that must be settled before we move forward," Thorin said, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper, as though afraid the trees would overhear. "Little has changed since we last spoke. I do not trust you, not after what you've done to me and my nephews. Be that as it may, we will still need to work together for this journey to succeed. Balin, you and I are the only members of this company to have ever _seen_ the mountain let alone been inside it. We will have to be the ones to lead the rest there and to advise Master Baggins once we arrive.

" Dwalin, despite your poor decisions, you are one of our best warriors. I can't deny that. My nephews are skilled but they are young and foolish. More than once this week Fíli has advocated for me to forgive you; assuring me that he knows everything and that you did nothing wrong." Thorin paused, taking a shuddering breath before his eyes hardened even further at the thought of them _telling_ Fíli that they had chosen him over an innocent child and then for the lad to not only accept it but _condone_ it.  

"This is something I cannot do," Thorin continued, the words dripping venom at the thought of what all of them had done to his nephew. "It is _not_ in me to forgive so base a betrayal, even if the one most wronged believes your actions to be just. However I will offer you a chance to redeem yourself for your own conscience if not for my forgiveness. Show me his trust is not misplaced. Do what I still cannot; keep them safe until we have retaken the mountain and I will see to it that you are given positions in the Iron Hills or perhaps Ered Luin. Your contracts will be honored, but I cannot trust you to remain in such trusted positions in my kingdom. What good to me are advisors that would allow such terrible behavior to continue under their noses? My sister's approval or no." He felt a slight stirring of satisfaction when they at least looked slightly ashamed of themselves.

"We will complete the quest," Thorin said simply. "We will do what we set out to do. And then we will go our separate ways. We are colleagues, no longer Kin but merely dwarves united in a cause. My legal obligations towards you, set forth in the contracts, will be honored and afterwards you will leave Erebor or experience a severe reduction in status. Do we have an understanding?"

"Aye," Dwalin agreed, guilt searing his stomach that Fíli, who should be the one calling for his head, was advocating for him. "I'll see to the lads. I get you to your mountain, then I'll go home." Thorin nodded, the resignation in Dwalin's voice calling to him.

"Balin?" Thorin asked, turning to the other son of Fundin, awaiting his agreement.

"We did it for _you_ , Thorin," the elder brother said softly. "It wasn't . . . _ideal_ , but we needed you. Can't you understand? You were the only ruler we had. If . . . if you . . ."

"If I went mad too?" Thorin snapped. "Is that what you were going to ask? Let me ask you, Balin; what now? I'm sane, aye, but what of Fíli? Who are you planning to sacrifice for his sanity? Kíli? Or were you thinking that since they are both males that the eldest wouldn't matter? So what if he goes mad, we have a spare. Was that it?"

"No," Balin protested. "We never . . . we would never—"

"You did," Thorin cut him off sharply. "And whether you agree or not, that is my decision on the matter. Now, let's continue the quest." His part in this conversation finished, Thorin turned and returned to the main group, assisting Fíli in tying the lid of his saddle bags before allowing himself to be assisted onto his own borrowed pony.  With a final glance back to make sure that Balin and Dwalin had returned to the group, he took a deep breath and gave the order to move out, praying to Mahal that the pony was a sure-footed as a mountain-goat.

**ooOO88OOOo**

They'd barely been traveling an hour when Thorin fervently wished that he had allowed his nephews to persuade him to remain in Beorn's for a bit longer. Level though the ground was, it seemed that his mount managed to find every rock and dip in the field for the sole purpose of jolting him. Some part of his mind whispered that he was being unfair, but he found that he was unable to listen to that voice when every beat of the beast's hooves sent a fresh wave of pain through him.  He closed his eyes, trusting the creature to at least follow Gandalf's horse and was startled by a gentle hand on his arm.

His eyes shot open only to see the sheepish smile their hobbit was offering him.

"Sorry," Bilbo muttered. "I didn't mean to startle you. I just," he paused and shrugged before pressing a water skin into Thorin's hand.

"It's not hot," he continued, "But I took everything out so it wouldn't steep too long and get bitter. I even slipped a bit of honey in it in case it doesn't sit well for long." Thorin laughed softly before offering the hobbit a small smile. Bilbo Baggins thought of things that no one else would have. Tea and honey on the road, who, other than Dori perhaps, would have done it.

"Thank you, Master Baggins," the dwarf king said before uncorking the skin and taking a sip. He couldn't hold back the grimace as the tea hit his tongue. Honey-laced it may have been but the taste lacked much to be desired. Poor as the flavor was, if it took the edge from the pain, Thorin would drink it.

"You might give it a bit of a shake," Bilbo said, feeling guilty that he had offered an unpalatable solution. "Honey does tend to settle to the bottom."  Thorin nodded, corking the skin before inverting it a couple of times and taking another sip; while better than the first, the tea was still not a beverage Thorin would chose once this was over.

"It'll do," Thorin muttered, sorry that was the highest praise he could offer to something the hobbit had clearly gone out of his way to make. "I thank you." Bilbo beamed in response to the thanks, paltry though it was, and allowed his pony to fall back to where Bofur and his nephews were riding. Taking one final look at the tea, Thorin smiled. Perhaps the day would not be a bad as he'd feared.

**ooOO88OOoo**

As evening fell, Thorin knew he should have known better than to hope for the best. While the tea had helped the pain, nothing could help the soreness in his body from riding that day after too long spent abed. When the time came to dismount at the edge of the forest to make camp, it was a force of will to convince his stiffened muscles to summon the energy to climb from the beast. As much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, blood loss and a week spent abed had taken their toll on him. He knew without attempting it that removing the tack from the pony would be beyond him.

"I've got that, Thorin," he heard Glóin offer. He was about to turn to his cousin and tell him that—untrue though it was—he could remove his own gear but was saved from such a bluff by Gandalf's voice.

"Leave it," the wizard ordered. "The pony and tack must return to Beorn as promised. The consequences of not following his edict would be dire indeed."

"Not like we could take them into the forest anyway," Nori muttered. "Nothing with any sense'd go in there."

"We're going in there, Nori," Dori sighed. Nori shrugged but didn't amend his statement. Looking at the giant trees and general , Bilbo couldn't help but agree. Folks back home might fear the Old Forest, but for pure looks, it had nothing on this Mirkwood.

"Do we _have_ to go in?" Bilbo whispered to Bofur, hoping no one else would overhear.

"Aye," the dwarf sighed, looking no happier about it that Bilbo felt. "It's either that or go two-hundred miles north and risk nearing Grundabad or go about the same distance south and have to wade a marsh while dodging pursuit. The forest is the only way." With a deep sigh, Bilbo shouldered his pack, bidding the pony farewell and praying to Eru himself that things would go smoother in this dark wood than they had on the rest of the quest thus far. Little did he know that his prayer was echoed by the entire company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to take a quick moment to assure people that have glanced at most of my other hobbit fanfictions that despite the increase in interaction between Thorin and Bilbo, there will be no slash or shipping in this story. It will continue to remain a gen fic. I promise. 
> 
> And sorry it's been so long. Holiday schedules at the hospital are a . . . well, there's no polite word for them. Add to that that we are expecting our second child in May and . . . well, writing time is hard to come by. Sorry.


	54. In the Forest of Mirkwood

More of the company than one had heard the expression that first impressions could be deceiving at least once in their lives; however, where Mirkwood was concerned, first impressions held true. The forest was just as dank and unpleasant as it had first appeared, possibly even more so as the canopy, which had appeared sparse on the edge, was actually impossibly dense and blocked nearly all the light from above. Following the path, defined though it was, was difficult due to the permanent twilight all times, shadows seemed to move in the periphery. Even the most experienced among them could not say for certain if the shadows were real creatures, tricks of the light, or figments of their minds. A fact made worse by the fact that, at the last moment, Gandalf had declared that he had business to attend to and would not be accompanying them into the forest. The fact that even a wizard would not enter the wood made them wonder just what foul beast dwelled within.

Worse still was when night fell and the dim light of day faded to pitch blackness that even the dwarves' keen eyes were having difficulty penetrating. They had learned the first night that fire did nothing to alleviate the situation. Instead, it drew giant moths and reflected off the eyes in the darkness, revealing the shadows of day to be malevolent creatures that watched and waited for their chance to strike. So it was that they set watches each night to warn of attack, though they all knew that in the darkness their only warning would be the scream of one of their own after the attack had been launched. Even knowing that it was futile, the only way any of them got what little sleep they did was with the knowledge that someone was watching the company. Those that did sleep, slept as close to the others as they could, seeking comfort in the proximity of others.

All, that is, save Fíli and Thorin. They slept apart from the group, Thorin due to the pain other bodies pressing against his own would cause his wounds and Fíli because, with the exception of Bilbo, he wasn't entirely certain who he could trust to be so near him while he slept. He knew that it was foolish to take his chances with the beasts of Mirkwood rather than to allow his kin to shelter him, but he couldn't help it. He had tried the first night to sleep with the company but the feeling of so many people so close when he wasn't certain what he might say or do in his sleep . . . He had been awake the entire night, lying in the darkness and listening to the sounds of the creatures of Mirkwood and the shifting of the company as they too tried to rest. Every time he nearly drifted off, one of the others would move against him and jolt him awake, starting the process once second night, he had situated himself slightly apart from the others. He still had difficulty sleeping, the noises of the night and his own mind keeping him awake. However, he did get more rest than the night before.

Despite the poor sleep and oppressive forest, most of the company were still in good spirits during the early days of the all, there was only so long a body could maintain a state of constant vigilance before growing accustomed to the environment. For most, this was a relief. Once they grew more at ease, Bofur, Bilbo and Nori continued a running train of jokes and quips that forced even Thorin to smile on occasion. One moment in particular involved Bilbo and one of the dark squirrels that darted above the path, the latter startling the hobbit by chucking an acorn at his head from the darkness.

"See, Dori?" Nori had called. "There are other creatures with less sense than us. _That_ thing actually lives here."

"At least we have slightly more sense than a _squirrel_ ," Bofur had muttered. Thorin chuckled darkly at that, wondering if they truly did. At least the squirrel had been content to live where it did, dismal though it was, with its kin and hadn't led them halfway across the world to their ruin. He was broken from his dark thoughts by a triumphant cry and turned to find Ori holding the offending squirrel aloft by its tail, having felled it with his sling shot. Thorin watched as the young dwarf practically glowed under the praise and pats of the company for providing dinner. _At least someone is gaining something from the quest,_ he thought with a sad look at his somber nephews before turning and following the path once more.

As much as he would have liked to speak with them, things between the royal family were still stilted and tense. While fine when speaking with most of the company, if more than one of them was involved, things became overly polite and stiff. All three of them reluctant were to say or do anything that might be perceived as offensive by any of the others. However, tact was not an inherent trait of their family, leading to more than one attempt at conversation that ended in awkward silence for all involved.

It was particularly fresh in his mind as just the night before the company had found a small patch of moonlight and, attempting to unwind before bed, had been trading songs and tales in the semi-darkness. At a lull, Fíli had turned from the group, his blue eyes and beads reflecting the moonlight.

"Won't you join us, Uncle," he asked softly, attempting to include his uncle, who had seemed even more sad and distant than he ever had before since Beorn's.

Thorin considered the request for a moment before taking a breath and feeling the now familiar catch in his chest. With that he shook his head.

"I . . . I can't, Lad," he muttered, hating to turn down so simple a request but knowing that singing or storytelling was still beyond him. Just the act of walking up a small grade was enough to make his vision dim, it would be impossible for him to sing or speak for an extended time.

"Your vow," Fíli sighed. Scoffing at himself for his stupidity. "I forgot that you swore not to sing again until we regained our home. Forgive me, Uncle." Everything within Thorin screamed for him to tell his nephew the truth. To say aloud that he had forgotten that statement in the wake of what had followed and that there was another cause. The explanation was at the back of his throat, pounding for release, but he couldn't bring himself to admit such a weakness to the entire company, his pride as a dwarf refusing to allow it.

"You were forgiven before you asked, Lad," he said instead. _After all,_ he reasoned, _there was never anything to forgive._

The group was silent for a moment, no one seeming certain how to begin again. Eventually it was broken by Glóin.

"Time to turn in, lads, don't you think?" he asked. There were grumbles of agreement followed by shuffling as they settled in for the night. Fíli volunteered for the first watch and, shocking them all, Kíli joined him. They sat in silence, watching the edge of the moonlight for any sign of movement until all sounds of shuffling faded and snores replaced them.

"Fíli, I need you to do something for me," Kíli said softly, breaking the silence.

"We're on watch, Kíli," the elder sighed. "We need to stay focused."

"I won't take but a second," the younger muttered. "And then we'll go right back to watching." Fíli said nothing, taking in the quiet night, broken by nothing other than the snores of their companions and the normal nocturnal noises of the forest, before he replied.

"What is it?" he finally asked, hoping that by allowing his brother to ask he wasn't putting the rest of the company in danger.

"I need you to have a look at my back," Kíli replied. "I was feeling better but . . . It hurts more now than it has for over a week. It almost _burns_ , Fíli. I should be fine by now. Uncle's fine and his wounds were worse than mine."

"No, he's not," Fíli cut in softly. "He's not fine. He's in more pain than he lets on. His gait is stiff and he still holds his arms too close to his body. He's not 'fine' Kíli."

"Still," Kíli argued, a bit irritated with himself that he hadn't noticed that as well, "he's not getting worse. I think I am. Fíli, I've seen what infection can do. What-what if they're getting infected?"

"Kíli, bruises don't get infected," Fíli sighed, shocked by just how terrified his brother sounded at the prospect. "Now, don't misunderstand, I don't doubt they hurt. Possibly more than they have before. I'm not saying that but . . . this forest . . . It, it enhances fears, Kíli. I doubt they're actually infected, you just . . . you remember what happened to Uncle and in the dark . . . it . . . you'll be fine, though. But if you'd like I can check your back when we wake the next group for watch before we go to bed." Kíli wanted to retort that bruises didn't bleed either and his had but he couldn't see where he had anything to gain from arguing the matter with his brother. And while he wanted someone to look at his wounds for him, he didn't want _everyone_ doing it. It was that reason that he had waited until the others had gone to sleep to ask. And after all, Fíli was probably right. It had been too long since the initial injury to worry about infection.

"You're right," Kíli muttered. "I'll be fine. Thank you, Fíli." With that they drifted into silence until it was time to wake the next watchers. For the first time in ages, however, the silence was not an stilted one but, rather, nearly companionable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it's been so long. I've just been terribly busy between balancing work, a toddler, a pregnancy, buying a house and orchestrating a move. And then I show up with a short chapter. I do promise that the next one is in the works and things are beginning to look like there is a light at the end. And hopefully I can get a new chapter out much sooner. Thank you for those of you that are still here and welcome to anyone brave enough to jump in.
> 
> Stickdonkeys


	55. Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to start this off by saying thank you to EVERYONE who reviewed that last chapter. I know some of you will not get the chance to read this as you are no longer following this story but just in case you decide to look at one more chapter, I want to say thank you so much. And since I know you can't tell over the internet I just want to assure you that there is no sarcasm in that whatsoever. 
> 
> While I will admit that I lost a bit of my passion for this story for a bit after some . . . honest reviews here that . . . well, they were true, And they revealed flaws in the character of the characters that I hadn't seen as THAT big of an issue until they were spelled out in black and white and all in one place. It took others explaining to the reviewers (and me) that the flaws were what them interesting, even while being exasperating, to make me feel good about them again. And it wasn't an ego thing so much as a "Wow, I've written some really effed up people here. What is wrong with ME that I could come up with this?" moment. I always welcome criticism especially when it makes me stop and think about what I'm doing and where I'm going. I now have direction and a solid plan to the end. Now to acquire a bit of time . . . Always one or the other, no?
> 
> So again, thank you so much for you comments on the last chapter. I wish I had time to reply to the individually but (as terribly tacky as this is to say) I just don't. Please rest assured that they are very much appreciated. Even when they are the comments I NEED and not the ones I necesarially want to read.   
> stickdonkeys

The day after Ori brought down the squirrel-which had been inedible despite Bombur's best efforts and continued assurances that he knew how to cook squirrel, strange dark creature or no -Kíli felt even worse than he could ever remember feeling. His head throbbed, his eyes burned and felt sore, his limbs felt heavy and he couldn't seem to keep his balance. It was a situation that was only made worse by the fact that _everything_ hurt. It was not just the places on his back that had been paining him; his very bones _ached_. He knew that he should tell someone, but as Fíli had rebuffed his efforts to get help, he doubted anyone else would care. So, rather than voice his complaints, Kíli stumbled along as best he could wishing the path would at least remain semi-level and that the trees would stop swaying in the wind that refused to reach him on the ground.

The others noticed, of course, but they assumed that it was just the fact that he had volunteered for watch again the night before, as he had the two nights previously. Not that they blamed him. Mirkwood didn't lend itself readily to a good night's sleep on any occasion and while it was easier to stay awake for watch that way it was even more difficult to get back to sleep afterwards—having seen all those eyes staring at you, knowing they could come at any time. Because of this, no one challenged the young dwarf. If he was able to walk, they weren't going to embarrass him by pointing out his clumsiness. There was, however, a consensus on the matter; there was no way he was taking a watch that night, regardless of his protests.

It wasn't until later that day, when Kíli stumbled and failed to get his feet back under him that they realized there was actually a problem. The young heir had been lagging as the day went on and Bilbo, Bofur and Ori had dropped back slightly to keep him company. At a strange noise from Kíli, Bilbo turned, just in time for the youngest heir of Durin to fall into him, knocking them both to the ground. The hobbit groaned at being slammed into the ground and pinned there, momentarily irritated with the dwarf for tackling him before he realized that Kíli wasn't moving. He was laying there, his brown-eyes open but unseeing, their gaze unfocused and his breathing too shallow and far too rapid.

"Kíli," Bilbo called, slapping him lightly on the cheek. "I would appreciate it if you would get off me. You are rather heavy, after all." Kíli didn't reply, and despite the hobbit's rather shrill voice being right in his ear, his eyes drifted closed. When it became clear that Kíli wasn't going to move on his own, Bilbo looked for help.

"I'm afraid I can't get out from under him on my own," Bilbo said with a wry smile at the others. "Would one of you like to help me? This position is not exactly comfortable, and he's quite hot. Between the weight and the heat . . ."

"Heat?" Thorin demanded, walking back through the company and dropping to his knees with a grimace beside his nephew and the hobbit. He held no illusion that he could lift Kíli off of Bilbo—his healing shoulders still wouldn't allow it—but he couldn't resist the urge to see if his nephew was alright. Despite the fear beating in his chest, he tried to be practical. _Perhaps dwarves run warmer than hobbits._ He thought desperately as his hand moved forward. _That_ _has_ _to be it._ _We were built for the forges, after all._ _There was no way that_ . . . _no. It_ _isn_ _'t possible_ _. I will not lose anyone else._

"Yes," Bilbo replied. "Almost uncomfortably so." Thorin reached forward to touch Kíli's skin and knew even before he did that his nephew was feverish. He could feel the heat radiating from him before his hand even made contact and once he did, he pulled it away quickly with a curse. He had been in forges that weren't nearly as warm. Though the contact had been brief, Kíli had moaned and tried to turn away from his uncle's fingers, the cold sensation uncomfortable on his feverish flesh.

"Óin?" he called, his voice a choked desperate whisper, habit of seeking help from his cousins breaking through his recent avoidance of them in his time of need. Even though it was the first time Thorin had spoken to him since Beorn's, the old healer came forward without complaint and placed his hands first on Kíli's face and then his neck, ignoring the lad's feeble protests at his actions. He pulled away with a sigh after only a moment. His temperature was much too high, even for a young dwarf that had been traveling. He gently grasped Kíli's arm where the Goblin had cut him, but the flesh there was no warmer than the rest of his body. It confused him. He had been sure that this came from infected wounds. Kíli had been exposed to no other source of illness. With another sigh, he forced the sleeve of Kili's coat up to his elbow.

"His wound is fine, Thorin," Óin said, unwrapping it to be entirely sure and seeing no sign of infection. In fact, though the knot had been clumsy and the dressing too loose, the wound appeared well tended. "It's not infected." He turned the arm slightly so Thorin could see for himself the pink, healing flesh.

"Something is not fine," Thorin snapped, irritated that the answer had not been so simple. "If not his wound then what ails him?"

"Fatigue?" the healer suggested, his tone revealing his uncertainty and his own agitation at not readily having an answer. "He has been taking many watches lately. Or perhaps the dampness of the forest. Maybe he ate something he aught not to have. I don't know, Thorin. But it's not this wound."

"So it's some fault with the lad himself, is it?" Thorin demanded, not liking one bit that Óin was implying that a weakness of Kíli's constitution was to blame for his present illness. Dwarves did not fall sick from fatigue or was an ailment of men alone. Dwarves were meant to endure all things like the stone from which they were hewn .

"I didn't say that, Thorin," Óin sighed, holding out his hands in appeasement. "All that I am saying is that I can't find a cause for this collapse. His arm is fine. It is healing beautifully. That rules out infection. All that leaves is exhaustion, or another illness."

"He's a dwarf," Thorin snapped, wincing as the force of his words caused his ribs to protest.

"Aye, and no one is saying he's not," Óin retorted. "All I'm saying is that he is not suffering from an infected wound and we need to look into other causes. If you have any suggestions, then I'm more that willing to entertain them but all I have to go on is that it's not infection."

"What about his back?" Fíli whispered, horror flooding his veins as he realized that this had been what Kíli had been talking about the night before last. He was actually seeking help, not just attention, and Fíli had rejected him. And now he had succumbed to fever. If Kíli died it would be his fault. He will have killed his brother through neglect.

"What about his back, lad?" Óin asked, lifting the young dwarf so Bilbo could finally scramble out from under him before laying him gently back on the forest floor, not liking in the least the way his head lulled as he was lifted. When no reply came, he turned to the other lad to see that Fili was staring off into nothing with a horrified expression. _Confound the Line of Durin_ , the healer thought vehemently before calling the lad's name sharply enough to snap him out of it.

"What about his back, lad?" Óin repeated, hoping that he'd get a straight answer that wouldn't take him all day to decode.

"Th-the other night when we were on watch he asked me to look at it in the moonlight," Fíli replied, his eyes still distant and his words barely audible. "I told him that I would do it after we were done and had woke the next watch. He told me not to worry about it. Said he was being ridiculous. So I let it drop."

"Why'd he want it looked at?" the healer pressed, his tone edging towards exasperation. "What was going on, lad?"

"He said . . . He said it burned,"Fíli replied, trying to remember if Kíli had said anything else about them. "That they hurt more than they had before. He was . . . He was worried they were getting infected and I . . . I convinced him they weren't and told him to wait until after watch. He was right and I . . ."

"No one would have thought they were," Ori offered softly. "It's been a little while now. They should be nearly healed."

"Not if they were reopened," Dori corrected as Óin and Bofur set to stripping Kíli of his shirts. "Especially if they didn't bleed well enough to wash them out." Fíli and Dwalin both flinched at the memory of their rough treatment of Kíli in the past week or so, each wondering if they had been the one to lead to this.

After they had removed his coat and overshirt, Óin cursed. The lad's undershirt was filthy. Dried blood and grime covered it and, beneath the smell of unwashed body, the healer could smell illness. He couldn't help the anger that welled up in him at Kili for allowing this. Of course any wound would become dangerous if it wasn't kept clean. Every dwarfling knew that. He could only hope the bandage was in better shape, assuming of course that Kili had left one. A quick peek under the cloth revealed that, indeed, there was no additional wrapping; the wound was in direct contact with his undershirt.

"Foolish child," he muttered, sending up a silent prayer to The Maker that his folly would not be the end of him.

"We're going to need a fire," he sighed, turning to the company before lifting the final layer to reveal the wounds. The majority of the young heir's back was a sickly mottled yellow-green where the bruises were beginning to fade, however down the middle between his shoulder-blades, the flesh was angry red with white and yellow pus oozing from the tight skin. Still, Óin was relieved. Bad as it was, there were no streaks coming from the wound and it did not stink of rot.

"Is it . . .?" Fíli asked, creeping forward to look. Despite his guilt, he was curious. He'd never seen infection before, though he'd heard more than enough about the dangers of it to know that it could kill.

"Aye, that's exactly what it is," Óin replied. "He's lucky you remembered that. Might just have saved his life. May as well unpack, lads. We're not going anywhere until I'm done here." There was some uncomfortably shuffling at that. While they knew that he had spoken correctly, there was no doubt in any of their minds that things were still no settled between their king and his kin and didn't want to be seen taking orders from someone who might not have the favor of their monarch tomorrow.

"You heard him, lads," Thorin said, moving once more to Kili's side and brushing his nephew's hair back from his sweaty brow. "Make camp and try to start a fire. Giant moths be damned." At his approval, the company sprang into motion, gathering kindling from the edges of the path-careful not to truly stray from it as they had been warned against it-and setting camp.

"Bilbo," Thorin called, stopping the hobbit from going with Bofur for firewood. "Do you have more of those herbs that Beorn gave you?"

"I do," the hobbit replied, wondering why Thorin would be asking when he had refused to hear anything about them since they had entered the forest.

"Good," the dwarf king said, looking up a Bilbo with a pinched expression that the hobbit couldn't place. "Keep a bit of the water aside. He . . . The lad will be needing them before this is over." Bilbo nodded and hurried to rejoin Bofur, stopping only to tap Fili on the arm.

"Do you want to come along?" Bilbo asked, seeing the pain in the young dwarf's face as he stared at his uncle and brother and thinking he might like a distraction, no matter how small.

"I . . ." Fili started, wanting to tell Bilbo that he'd rather go to his brother. He couldn't bring himself to do so, both for fear of disappointing the hobbit and because he wasn't sure that he would be welcome with his uncle and brother.

Misinterpreting his reluctance, Bilbo added, "Your sharper eyes will help, even if your hand won't."

"Alright," Fili agreed, unable to argue that his eyes were not better in the semi-dark than the hobbit's were. "Let's go." With one final look at his family, Fili followed Bilbo down the path, his eyes scanning for firewood to help make right his mistakes. In his head was an endless prayer that Kili would not pay the ultimate price for his selfishness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And real life strikes again. We are now moved, the new baby is here and life goes on. Surprisingly, so does the story. I hope it was worth the wait and I understand that slow updates do cause a loss of interest. I apologize again that it takes time.


	56. A Beacon of Hope

Once the fire was lit and some of their precious water was on to boil, the dwarves turned their attention to any task other than the one Óin was overseeing. For some it was some much needed mending or weapons tending. Others, well, Bilbo was attempting to teach Ori how to embroider more hobbitish designs into his works and more than one dwarf who likely had no real interest in embroidery (especially of a hobbit variety) was attempting to learn. At any other time, to see someone like Nori embroidering _lilies_ on a shirt sleeve would have been comical. As it was, however, no one was finding much humor in anything.

After what seemed like an eternity, the healer sighed. “It’s all I can do,” he said, rising and attempting to stretch the crick out of his back. “I’ve removed the worst of the infection; it’s up to him now.”  More than one of them wondered if the “him” Óin referred to was Kíli or Mahal, but they didn’t have the heart to ask just how unlikely recovery was.  None of them took it as a good sign that Kíli had barely stirred during the procedure. The haunted depths of Thorin’s blue eyes where he sat with Kíli’s head in his lap spoke volumes as to his hope for a good outcome.

A thick, oppressive silence descended over them as they all waited for someone to ask the question they all wanted the answer to, yet were unwilling to give voice. Eventually Fíli’s worry for his brother won out over his guilt and he left his half-hearted attempt at pretending to learn to knit by watching alone to stand and move to sit by his uncle.

“How is he?” Fíli breathed, almost afraid of the reception he would receive. Not that it wouldn’t be deserved, but all the same it would hurt to be shunned when he had made progress, small enough it may have been, with his uncle.

“I don’t know,” Thorin breathed, petting back Kíli’s sweaty dark hair as though he could brush away his illness if he tried enough times with enough will. “He bled clean but . . . he barely woke even with Óin cutting deeply. We may be too late.”  Fíli felt as though he’d been doused in a frozen river. The words “too late” echoing in his head until they were all that he could hear.  Along with the echoing words was the crushing weight of the fact that if he had only done as his brother asked then it might not have been. If only he’d been willing to look then Kíli could have been saved. His life wouldn’t now hang in the balance of the hands of a god who couldn’t care less about his children. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than he was begging that Mahal forgive him for it. For while Fíli knew that Thorin tended towards melancholy, especially as of late, he generally tended to be realistic in the probability of a good outcome for most ventures. Fíli could only pray to the Maker that this was another of the rare times when Thorin was wrong.

**ooOO88OOoo**

They spent the entire night in the place where Kíli had fallen. Official watches were set, however none rested well. Even as they lay in the dark with their eyes closed attempting to ignore it, Kíli’s shallow, ragged breath kept them all awake. When there would be a pause, the small moan of discomfort before the next breath was a relief. As long as he still drew breath there was hope for him, and for the quest in general. None had missed the _fragility_ in their king since Goblin Town, and while none faulted him for it –anyone would have difficulty coping with what had happened and what followed—they had little doubt that given his current state, the death of his nephew would break him.

And that would be nothing compared to what it would do to Fíli. If Thorin had been fragile since Goblin Town, then Fíli had been as tenuous as the final log left on the fire overnight; stable in appearance but crumbling to ash and dust at the slightest brush of air. It was readily apparent to any with eyes that their crown prince was barely clinging to himself. If they lost Kíli, Fíli would lose himself as well. Now, whether that loss would lead to darkness, madness, or some hidden strength, none could, nor wished to attempt to, guess. While Fíli and Thorin sent prayers to the silent heavens for Kíli alone, the rest of the company prayed for them all.

Come morning, The Maker must have listened to someone for Kíli still lived. The lad was breathing. While no less shallow than before, they seemed to come easier; though perhaps that was wishful thinking. One thing was for certain, however; he was slightly more aware. When Óin removed his dressings to clean the wounds, he grumbled in protest and attempted to move away.  And when his still feverish brow was wiped with a cloth, his eyelids fluttered in attempt to open.

“Tough lad,” Óin muttered, tucking the tail of the clean bandage in to keep it in place. “He may just make it.”

“We can hope,” Thorin replied, his voice harsh with disuse, having spent the entire night leaned against a tree keeping vigil on his nephew. “It’ll do the lads good to rest a bit anyway. We’ve made good time through this damned forest.”

“Yes,” the healer said, his eyes flitting to the sky as if to gage the distance they’d traveled. “You need to rest as well, Thorin. You’re not completely well yourself. I’ve noticed you still wince at times when you move hastily. If you’d like I could—”

“I’m fine,” Thorin snapped, cutting him off. “I thank you for your help with Kíli, but you needn’t worry for my sake. I’ve been well tended.”

“By the _hobbit_ ,” Óin interjected, his tone showing his bitterness at the rejection. “I am merely offering the services of a _trained_ healer familiar with dwarven anatomy.”

“Services that are not needed,” Thorin said flatly. “Bilbo has performed admirably. Thank you again for your help with Kíli. No further aid will be needed for my part. It wouldn’t do to have your attention divided at such a crucial time.”

“As you wish, _My King_ ,” Óin said, barely hiding his disgust in his tone as he turned and walked back to the rest of the group and sat beside Glóin before pulling out his pipe and smoking angrily while staring into the woods.

“Not looking good for the lad?” Glóin asked softly, unsure what else could have irritated his brother so. He knew how much it troubled Óin to lose patients, even cases that were lost before they arrived.

“Still too early to know,” the healer replied sadly. “Could still go either way. The lad’s stubborn but the infection went deep.”

“So we’re staying another night?” Dwalin asked, trying to ignore the guilt in his gut at the knowledge that Kíli could still die from their negligence.

“Or two or three,” Óin sighed. “Depends on Kíli. If he’s doing well and we move too soon it could kill him.” _And if we wait here too long it could kill us all,_ Dwalin thought sadly, though he said nothing. Even if Thorin would listen to him now, and he held no hope that he would, he would hate to be the one to say they had to move and bring about the lad’s death. But as supplies ran low. . .

_Hopefully Thorin sees reason on his own and doesn’t force a mutiny. Though with it being Kíli and without us to guide him . . ._ Dwalin trailed off unable to complete the thought even within his own head. He had no actual doubt as to what would happen to Thorin if Kíli didn’t make a speedy recovery. He only hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He knew to his bones that if they lost one of them the guilt would end them all.

**ooOO88OOoo**

The next few days showed progress, slow progress but progress all the same. The first few times he came to were harrowing at best. Ill though he was, he fought against them to the best of his ability, cursing them in Khuzdul, calling them goblins and begging for help as they pinned him to change his bandages. All of them dreaded the next time, knowing that it would be more of the same, however, Kíli slowly became more lucid and alert and soon the struggles ceased and he would even assist to the best of his abilities, lying still and helping to position himself for easier access to wounds.

Three days in, he was awake most of the time and eating once more, however he was still unfit for travel.  Any attempt to stand caused his limbs to shake like a newborn colt’s. And while any progress was good, the rate of it was disheartening. They had never intended to take an extended rest in the forest and had carefully rationed their supplies to reach Long Lake. Thorin had discretely taken stock of the remaining provisions and knew they had to move soon. It was rapidly coming down to a choice between Kíli or them all.  It seemed there were no good options but the time had come to weigh them all.

He waited beside his nephew during the daily change of bandages. Once the healer was done he called to his Fíli. After the first day, Fíli had kept away from his brother as much as possible and Thorin hoped that pushing them together once more would pull Fíli out of the darkness that Thorin recognized from himself.

“Fíli, come and sit by your brother for a time,” he said, attempting to make it come across as a request that could be denied, judging by his nephew’s face, he failed. Every move his nephew made as he complied with the command made it clear to any watching that he did not wish to do it, however he made no protest as he sat beside his brother.

“I’ll watch him, Uncle,” Fíli said, the words small though they were, stirred something in Thorin that he didn’t recognize or have time to address at the moment. Not with starvation looming. Rather than reply, he nodded and turned to follow Óin before he could get back to his brother and cousins. He needed to know if moving the lad in a litter would be certain death or if he stood a chance. If not . . . there were no good answers if he couldn’t be safely moved but Thorin wouldn’t condemn the entire company to death for one dwarf, kin or no. However, he also couldn’t abandon one of their own to certain death injured and alone in the wild. He would have to come up with another solution. He just hoped the lad could be moved.

Fíli watched his uncle walk away with a sense of dread. It was one thing to sit beside his brother and watch over him while he was unconscious; it was another thing entirely to sit beside him now, awake and ill and looking at him with such accusing eyes. Eyes that were right. It was all his fault that Kíli was ill now. He’d reached out for help and Fíli had ignored him.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Kíli said softly, his voice still hoarse from disuse. “Me being sick.”

“You almost died,” Fíli ground out. “It’s not like you’re just ill. You almost _died_. Because _I_ refused to check your wounds when you _asked_ me to. It _is_ my fault.” Kíli gave a ghost of a laugh and shook his head wearily, laying back on the pile of furs and cloaks they had assembled for him.

“By the Maker, you are too much like _him_ ,” Kíli breathed. “You don’t have to take everything on yourself. Not every bad thing that happens near you is your fault.” Fíli opened his mouth to protest but Kíli cut him off. “Are you and I the only dwarves here?” Fíli looked at him as though he’d lost his mind and reached out to feel his brother’s forehead, worried the delirium had returned. Kíli attempted to jerk his head away, but stopped with a groan, only managing to turn slightly away and not avoid the touch entirely.

“I’m not feverish,” Kíli snapped, more irritated with his inability to do even so small a thing than with his brother for worrying for him. “I _know_ there’s more of us. It was to prove a point.”

“What point?” Fíli scoffed. “So what if there’s more of us. You didn’t ask _them_. You asked _me._ And I said no. It wouldn’t have taken but a moment. I should have just done it rather than thinking you had ulterior motives.”

“I did,” Kíli admitted softly, looking up at his brother in shame. “I had another reason for asking you and for waiting until we were alone. But it’s not what you’re thinking,” he added as he saw the horror cross his brother’s face at the thought that he was attempting to manipulate him. “It wasn’t about you. It was about me.”

“I . . . I didn’t want the others to think I was weak,” Kíli whispered, so faint that even in the silence of Mirkwood Fíli had to strain to hear the words. “You already knew. Already knew how many weak choices I’ve made since we left home. The others . . . they still had faith in me. I couldn’t bring myself to disappoint them, to taint the image they had of me further than I already had. That’s why I asked you. And why I insisted that it be on watch.

“I shouldn’t have done that, Fíli,” he continued. “I shouldn’t have put that on you. What if you _had_ looked, hm? What could you really have seen in the dark? You would have told me I was still bruised but otherwise fine. And then when this still happened, what then, Fíli? You still would have tried to shoulder the blame, that’s what. I was the fool. This is my mistake and my punishment, not yours.”

Fíli was silent for a moment considering what his brother said before he laughed. “When did you get so wise?” he asked ruffling his brother’s hair, his sense of guilt lessening for the first time since Kíli had fallen. “You almost sound like Mother.”

“Almost dying will do that to you,” Kíli replied with a crooked smile. “Being bed-bound gives you time to think about priorities.”

“It’s not the first time you’ve almost died,” Fíli said, his eyes taking on the same haunted expression they’d had a bit before, all sense of humor gone once more, his eyes grazing the nearly healed wound on his brother’s cheek before looking resolutely away. “There’ve been far too many close calls on this quest.”

“You too,” Kíli added, painfully reaching out to grab his brother’s hand and squeezing it to get Fíli to look at him again. “But we didn’t. We’re not dead yet, Brother. What did Mother always say? ‘Where there’s life. . .”

“There’s hope,” Fíli finished as though reciting a lineage, committed to memory but with no emotion attached. “Do we still have hope, Kíli? Truthfully, I don’t know that I do.” Kíli felt his heart squeeze at the statement, so matter-of-fact, no self-pity in it for once. For the first time he truly saw just how damaged his brother was by all of this. He really had no hope left. Kíli’s earlier statement, meant somewhat in jest, about the similarities between his uncle and brother rang in his ears and he saw the truth in it. Fíli and Thorin shared the same affliction of the spirit.

“I have enough for us both,” he said offering a sad smile in response. He only hoped that Fíli’s statement about him being like his mother held true and he could serve a similar function for his brother as she served for hers: a beacon of hope in a sea of pessimism. He only hoped that either he was better at it than his mother or that his brother was less damaged than his uncle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So . . . . if anyone’s still hanging out, I’m not dead, nor is this story. Life has been hectic lately. Thankfully the new baby’s getting big enough now that I can find writing time again. But between him and my toddler, and working full time, it’s still hectic. I am so sorry for the delay, but I will say that while writing is still a priority, my family will always come first. I plead with you for patience, however will understand myself if my flakyness on this front drives some of you off. Thanks to those of you that are willing to bear with me. And my sincerest understanding to those that can’t. I have a hard time keeping interest in stories I’m following if there’s too long between updates as well.  
> Stickdonkeys.


	57. Nearly There

Fíli and Kíli had fallen into silence once more when Thorin returned from speaking with Óin. The healer hadn’t given him hope that Kíli would be fit to travel on his own power again for many days to come. However, he’d also said that the lad was stable enough to be moved. Continued travel would do him no harm, if there was a way to transport him. From there it had taken Thorin little time to come up with a plan, they were in a forest, it would be simple enough to fashion a litter for Kíli. They could take shifts pulling it. There was no other option. He sighed before turning to the company and raising his voice.

“Lads,” he called, “we’ve been idle long enough. If we are to leave this cursed place behind in favor of our home we must move.” The company nodded in agreement, a few of them casting sidelong glances at the forest in question. All except for Fíli and Kíli. Fíli was staring at his uncle in abject horror and Kíli paled further, fighting against the shame he felt at the knowledge that he would have to tell his uncle that he was still incapable of travel, something he felt that Thorin should have already known having been recently bed-bound by the same thing himself. Before he could find the words, his uncle was speaking once more.

“We must move,” he continued. “Of that we are in agreement. However, there is a small problem with this. One of our company is too ill to move on his own power. Óin says he is well enough to travel if we can assist him. Who will aid me in aiding him to complete this journey?” There was a roar of approval at the request. “Good lads! In that case, we’ll need a litter. We move at dawn.” Without further urging, Bofur began organizing the production. Satisfied that it would be done, Thorin moved once more to his nephews’ side.

“Uncle, a _litter_?” Kíli breathed, color flooding his face for the first time since the fever broke. “I can’t ask them to—“

“Can you walk?” Thorin asked sharply. He understood that being dragged like the invalid he currently was would be a blow to his nephew’s pride, but it was Kíli’s damned pride that had put them in this position in the first place, that and his own preoccupation with Fíli’s sanity and his own wounds.

Kíli opened his mouth, defiance clear in his eyes before stopping and shaking his head. “No, Uncle,” he admitted. “At least not quickly and not for far.”

“And would you have us wait here until you can and risk starvation before Long Lake?” Thorin asked. While part of him screamed that it was cruel to paint the options as such, the rest of him knew that one day the lads would be forced to make these kinds of decisions and should know what went into them.

“Starvation?” Fíli breathed, horrified at the thought. He could remember more than one long, cold winter when things had looked bleak but never before had he heard his uncle use that word. “Surely you’re exaggerating.” Thorin shook his head.

“Would that I were,” he said softly. “We only took from Beorn little more than Balin and I calculated it would take to reach Long Lake. We anticipated delays but we’ve been still for nearly a week. While we haven’t made progress on the forest, we still had to eat. And . . . we’ve used much of the water. There will be no clean of _that_ until the other side.”

“What do we do?” Kíli asked, only now realizing that his inaction had far more reaching consequences than just to himself and his brother. For all that Fíli was always saying that he doomed them all, it was looking more like Kíli had taken that burden on himself.

“Tighten our belts and hope for easy travel,” Thorin sighed. “There’s nothing else we can do. No aid will come from this forest. When we hit the River Running we can perhaps gather berries and fish to bolster us until Lake Town. Which we can pray is still there.”

“It seems like all we ever have are hopes and prayers lately,” Fíli said morosely. Thorin chuckled sadly and placed his hand on Fíli’s shoulder.   

“Oh, Lad, that’s all we’ve had for a long time,” he replied wearily. “But we’ve made it this far on them. Bruised and marred though we are we’re not broken yet, are we? There’s life in us yet. We may just make it out.”

“Where there’s life there’s hope,” Kíli muttered, shaking his head. It seemed his mother’s motto was rapidly becoming the mantra of the quest and the Line of Durin.

“Aye, Little One,” Thorin replied, placing his other hand on Kíli’s head. “Let us cling to hope; perhaps it will see us through again.” With Kíli awake and a plan in motion to continue on, Thorin felt more hope than he had in quite some time. All the same, he could feel the worry for the safety and survival of the company gnawing at the edges attempting to eat it away. He tried to ignore it, knowing that if he indulged in worry it was more likely to become reality. He knew the plan was solid and there was still time should travel go well through the forest. There was hope for them all. Even so, he couldn’t push the worry and anxiety entirely away.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Come dawn, the liter was ready. After a quick breakfast and packing of bedding, the time came to move out at last. Kíli closed his eyes and ducked his head in shame as he watched Bofur grab the poles and drag the cursed thing over to him. He wasn’t sure if he was glad that Bofur was the first or not. While the miner’s humor would be welcome, he was also one of the dwarves Kíli had grown closest to on the quest and it felt like too much of an imposition.

“You’re chariot awaits, Your Majesty,” Bofur said, sweeping Kíli a deep bow, attempting to make light of what was sure to be an awkward situation. The blush that had been coloring the poor dwarf to his hairline faded instantly at the words, even though they had been meant entirely in jest.

“Bofur, I—“

“I know, lad,” the miner said gruffly. “I . . . I didn’t mean it like it sounded. I know you would walk if you could. You’re not some spoiled elvish princeling. I’m sorry. I won’t make any more jokes about it.” Kíli nodded, worrying his lip with his teeth. Despite what Bofur said, he _felt_ like a spoiled elvish princeling, forcing his friend to drag him along when he _should_ be doing his part.

“Come on, lad,” the miner began, reaching for Kíli to lift him off the ground and move him to the litter “let’s get you moved over so we can get this day started.”

“No,” Kíli snapped. “I . . . I can do that much myself. It may take me a bit but, _please_ , let me have this.” Bofur nodded and stood there, feeling useless as he watched Kíli struggle to get almost to his feet and take the couple of shambling steps before collapsing onto the litter, panting for air.

“Ready?” Bofur asked as he settled himself between the poles.

“No,” Kíli grumbled, turning his head and allowing his hair to cover his face, hoping to hide his shame.

“Too bad,” the miner laughed. “Cause I’m done being in this forest. And each step taken is one step closer to out. Here we go, Kíli. I’ll try to avoid the worst of the roots.”

**ooOO88OOoo**

Bofur was true to his word. Not only did he try to avoid roots, he refrained from joking about what he was doing. When the time came to switch out, Kíli was almost sad to see him go. Bofur’s good humor almost had him convinced that the other dwarf really didn’t mind dragging along an invalid. Dori was next. While Kíli didn’t sense animosity from him either, he was not nearly as friendly in the task. He was still cautious and as gentle as possible, but he only spoke to Kíli when necessary, preferring to focus on his work.

That was the pattern of the day. Just as Kíli would almost get comfortable with the dwarf serving as his porter for the time, it would be time to switch once more. He understood, though. While any one of them could have gone for longer, they made frequent switches in an effort to avoid overtiring any one dwarf. After all, they couldn’t afford any more delays or to have two on the litter. He made certain to thank each of them multiple times and especially at the end and beginning. Even as they assured him that no thanks were needed, he couldn’t help but feel like an imposition.

It seemed that they had established a schedule the previous night because when the time came there was never debate on who was next. When one was done, the next was there to take the poles. Even Fíli took his turn, hooking the pole on his bad hand in his elbow. Only his uncle and Bilbo were excluded from the rotation.

That night, after his wounds were tended, Kíli slept on the litter. It was as comfortable as a cloak on the ground would have been and would save everyone trouble in the morning. Without exhaustion or fever, he found it difficult to sleep that night. Between the shadows of the forest and the ghosts of goblins in his head, it felt that he had barely closed his eyes when he felt the litter lift slightly before being dropped with a groan. He turned his head to see his uncle grasping his ribs and standing between the poles, glaring at them as though they had offered him personal offence.

“Uncle,” Kíli began reprovingly before his voice was drowned out by Dwalin’s.

“By Mahal’s beard! What do you think you’re doing, Thorin?” Dwalin roared, charging across the path like a bull and coming to stand before his cousin. Thorin’s hand immediately dropped from his ribs and he stood tall, defiant in the face of Dwalin’s aggression.

“My part,” Thorin ground out, pitching his voice low to hide his breathlessness. “He’s _my_ nephew. I’ll take my turn at the poles.”

“The hell you will,” Dwalin scoffed. “You try that and we’ll be pulling _both_ of you along. Is that what you want? I saw you try to lift a full pack yesterday. Do you honestly think you can lift _him_? Don’t be a fool.”

“You lost the right to call me a fool, Dwalin,” Thorin snapped. “You lost that right long ago.”

“This isn’t about us, Thorin,” the other dwarf sighed, deflating slightly. “This is about the good of the company. We can handle this. We’ve got him. You look after you.” It was on the tip of Thorin’s tongue to ask if they had him just like they were supposed to have had Fíli, but he thought better of it. It wouldn’t do anything, not really. And he’d failed Fíli as well. There was no point in failing Kíli and the company too by delaying them further.

“You’re right,” Thorin replied, stepping aside to allow Dwalin to take his place. “I was being a fool. I knew I couldn’t do it, at least not for long enough to count. You help him. I’ll just make sure I keep up.”

**ooOO88OOoo**

Things continued like that for a few days until one day as Nori came to take his turn in the morning, Kíli shook his head.

“I think I can walk today,” he said pushing off the litter with only minimal difficulty. It wouldn’t be easy but he knew he had to do things for himself eventually. On his feet or on the litter he was slowing the company.

“You shouldn’t overwork yourself, laddie,” Óin cautioned, his hands out to catch him as though afraid that Kíli would collapse. “You’re still trying to heal a deep wound.”

“I know,” Kíli replied, before taking a deep breath. “I’ll go back when I get tired. But I need to walk a bit today. I won’t slow us down, Uncle, I swear it.” Thorin considered it a moment before he nodded. “The moment I’m even _almost_ tired, I’ll go back.”

“Let the lad walk,” he said. “He _will_ let us know when he needs to rest.” The last of his pronouncement was said in such a way that Kíli had no doubt in his mind that the consequences of disobedience would be dire.

“I will,” he promised before taking a few steps down the trail and turning to encourage the rest to follow him. With a sigh, Nori lifted the handles of the empty litter and followed the young heir down the path.

They had only been at it about thirty minutes before Kíli’s muscles began to shake with fatigue and he had to resign himself to returning to the litter, but this time it was with a happier heart. Even though it was only half an hour, it was better than before. He held to hope that soon he wouldn’t need to be coddled. He wouldn’t be a burden. It was with that realization that he began joking with the others once more rather than trying to pretend he didn’t exist.

**ooOO88OOoo**

It was a few more days still before Kíli was able to walk the vast majority of the day. Óin still disapproved, stating that the young dwarf was still on the mend after a grave illness that he was lucky to have survived in the wild, but Kíli was insistent. None of the others, Thorin included, could see any harm in it. The lad was young and strong, his wounds were healing; there was no reason in their minds he couldn’t attempt to regain his previous stamina. Only Glóin understood where his brother’s resistance was coming from.

“You can’t keep him bed-bound forever, Brother,” he said that night when they were on watch together and the rest of the company was asleep.

“I know that,” Óin replied, instantly. “I just. . . I worry for the lad. He was very sick and I hate to think what might happen to him, or _us_ , if there’s a relapse.”

“To him or to _you_?” Glóin asked. “ _He’ll_ be fine. He’s healing well. Usually you encourage as much as they are willing to do. What are you really worried about?” Óin didn’t reply but the look he cast at their sleeping cousins said more than words ever could.

“This isn’t how you keep favor with him,” Glóin offered, patting Óin’s arm. “More secrets and subterfuge. It didn’t work for Balin and he’s better at it than you’ll ever be. You’ll have to think of something else to win back Thorin. You can’t keep clinging to his nephew’s health. Clear the lad already. Do it before it becomes clear to anyone else what you’re doing.” Óin said nothing, but the next morning he gave Kíli his blessing to travel.

“With care, now, lad,” he cautioned. “We don’t want another episode, do we?” Kíli beamed at him but he didn’t miss the smug look from his brother or the calculating ones from Thorin and Balin. He sent up a silent prayer that the lad remain healthy. He’d overplayed his hand. Any further injury or illness and he would fall under suspicion of sabotaging a prince: an offence punishable by death.

**ooOO88OOoo**

When Kíli was able to walk the entire day, the litter was disassembled. That was the last memorable day. Soon they began to blur into one another. Day after day, they rose and began the day’s march. Every day seeming less productive than the last (though it was difficult to gauge distance when all they had to go by were interminable trees) and each night seeming shorter--and yet longer--than the one before. Still, on they trudged. What other choice did they have? To make it worse, as spirits grew heavier, the packs grew substantially lighter.

 Balin and Thorin, the only dwarves to have passed through the forest before, seemed certain that they were more than halfway through. But there was a lack of conviction that was troubling. Neither of them seemed truly sure, but they seemed to believe it on willpower alone.

“We _have_ to be,” Balin muttered when he didn’t think anyone was listening. “If we’re not then we’ll not make it.” But they heard. As oppressive as the forest was, they had become attuned to every sound of a leaf moving or a twig snapping, though nothing ever presented itself for a clear shot (not that they would have tried after the disastrous attempt with the squirrel). The sound of a dwarf speaking carried easily in the silence. If he thought it would have helped matter, Thorin would have strangled him for saying it.

Tempers, which had been short before that statement, grew tenser still as they faced the very real possibility of starvation. They had yet to devolve into violence; however Thorin knew that they could not continue as they were. They needed some _genuine_ hope and answers. There was no way around it; someone would have to climb a tree for a better vantage point. His first choice would once have been his nephews, however Fíli’s hand barred him and Kíli was still far too pale, his wounds clearly paining him though he wouldn’t admit it. Thick though the trees were, he could see that the upper branches they would have to reach would not support any of the other dwarves. There was only one option.

“Bilbo,” he called, waiting for the hobbit to come close before he asked, “can you climb?”

“Well, I did as a child,” the hobbit replied, shaking his head, clearly not understanding the purpose of the question. “Small trees in the meadow. I think all children do, don’t they? I haven’t done it in ages though, why?”

“Do you believe that you can climb one of these trees and see if the end of the forest is in sight?” Thorin clarified, hoping that the hobbit would understand the gravity of the request and not make him explain that the morale and, perhaps, very lives of the company was at stake.

“Th-that one?!” Bilbo squeaked, glancing up at the giant tree, each bough bigger than his waist. “You want me to climb _that_ one?! I-I-I can’t reach. An-and I can’t get my arms around it. Nope, can’t be done. If I could get to the bottom branches then I could do it but--”

“Dwalin, put him in the tree,” Thorin ordered. “And thank you, Bilbo.” The hobbit blinked at him for only a second before he was lifted by Dwalin and boosted into the bottom branches.

“But, Thorin, I--” at a pleading look from the dwarf king, Bilbo sighed. “Just . . . Someone catch me if I fall,” he muttered before turning and beginning to climb the tree. They all waited with trepidation as the hobbit climbed, each stifled curse from him hitting like a physical blow. After an eternity they heard him call out.

“It’s beautiful,” his voice, far too far away for such a high, thin thing to be clearly heard. “There are such _wonderful_ butterflies. Bright purple. And the sun! Oh, how I’ve missed the sun!”

“What of the forest?” Dori called. “Does it end?”

“Yes,” Bilbo called back, laughter coloring his tone. “I can see the end. And what appears to be a small sea. And-and your mountain. We’re nearly there.” A cheer went up at that and even Thorin had to smile. It seemed they might make it after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is another update, and yes that is a bit more hope you see. How long will it last, I wonder . . . I have two more chapters of this in the hole and then we’re back to WIP status. For those of you wondering about my other WIP, When the Past will be updated soon as well, I just hit a vein on this one and was trying to bleed it dry before I jumped plot trains. As to the time jumps . . . I'm sick of Mirkwood. Aren't you?  
> Stickdonkeys


	58. Empty Bellies and Elves

It turns out that “nearly there” meant something entirely different to hobbits than to dwarves. Either that or hobbits were truly poor judges of distance. Two days after Bilbo declared that they were “nearly there” they were still in the damned forest. Even the most mild-mannered of them found that they were snipping at others over little slights. As the food ran low and the forest dragged on, rations had been cut. And then cut again. Now if felt that there was hardly a swallow to be had for each at a meal.

“We have to do something, Thorin,” Balin said one night, their feud needed to be set aside for the good of the company. “We can’t keep going on like this. Especially the hobbit and Kíli. We _have_ to find food.”

“And where do you propose we do that, Balin?” Thorin grumbled, irritated with both the situation and with Balin for implying that he wasn’t trying on his own. “There is nothing to be had here. Even a _wizard_ cannot magic food from nothing. Not that we have one when we really need him. He’s never around when we need him, only when we have no other escape.”

“Then maybe he’ll show up soon,” Balin sighed. He paused and thought about what he was about to say. The thought had crossed his mind many times lately, but thinking it and _saying_ it were two totally different things. Even so, it would be remiss of him not to at least suggest it. He knew the thought had never occurred to Thorin. His cousin hadn’t even thought to consult him due to their feud. His grudge against the Elf King went much deeper.

“Thorin,” he said slowly. “Gandaf isn’t our only chance here. We could . . . well . . . _he_ lives nearby.”

“It had occurred to me to ask Thranduil for help,” Thorin said. He gave a mirthless laugh at the look of shock on Balin’s face. “I may hold a grudge, Balin, but even I won’t risk my life and that of my kin for a century-old betrayal. If we encounter his folk we will ask.”

“But will he help this time?” Balin asked. Thorin gave a small shrug in response, too weary of all the alliance and politics of the world and the company to muster up more.

“He will or he won’t,” Thorin said softly, trying to cover the defeat in his tone and failing. “We can only ask.” _After all,_ he finished silently, _there was once I time I wouldn’t have thought you, your brother or my sister could do what you did.”_

**ooOO88OOoo**

The next day, the food ran out. They were about to stop for lunch—if you could call what they had been having that—when Bombur came up beside Thorin. The king knew what was coming before the cook could speak, the horror and regret in his eyes said it all. He glanced around nervously, making sure they were as alone as they could get before he confessed the truth.

“Thorin, I . . . I tried to ration it but,” Bombur began, clearly hating what he had to admit to, failing to ration appropriately to finish the journey.

“I know,” Thorin said. “I know it’s gone. I’m surprised it lasted as long as it did, truthfully.”

“What are we going to do?” Bombur asked. Thorin could hear the same fear in his voice that he felt in his gut. Starvation was not a kind death, he’d see it before. Nor was it a quick one. If Thranduil wouldn’t help then— _no,_ he shut that thought down before it could even take root. _We haven’t made it this far and survived this much to be killed by this. He **will** help or I will think of a new plan._

“We continue on,” Thorin replied simply, determination in his tone. “There’s nothing else we can do. We’re too far through to try to go back and nothing will come of being still.”

“Do I have to tell the lads we’re not breaking for lunch, then?” Bombur asked, clearly disliking the idea of being the one to tell them.

“We’ll still break,” Thorin said. “There will be no lunch though. Even dwarves cannot march endlessly on nothing.”

Rather than the dismay he had anticipated at the news that the food was gone, there was simply resignation. They had all known this was coming, even if they had never officially been told. Only a fool wouldn’t have realized what smaller and smaller portions meant. As he glanced from one grave face to the other, he wished he could promise them that he could fix this soon. Kíli, in particular was looking at him with such pleading in his eyes that it broke Thorin’s heart. But there was no way to comfort him, not when the majority of the culpability for this fell on his shoulders. They all shared some; after all, they had forgotten to see to his wounds. And Thorin understood not wanting _everyone_ to see he was injured however the lad _knew_ better than to let them fester and not ask _anyone_ until it was too late. He could only hope no one had to die to drive that lesson home.

**ooOO88OOoo**

They had only rested a short time before they were once again given the order to march.

“No lunch and now this,” Bilbo grumbled to Bofur. “More marching in this interminable, blasted forest. If I never see another tree again after this . . .”

“I know what you mean,” Bofur chuckled. “I’ll never complain about mines feeling dank again.”

“Unless you’re trapped in a cave-in,” Nori snarked. “Kinda feels like what’s going on here, eh? Stuck in the dark with strange cracking and creaking noises about, no food, low water, starvation pending. Need I go on?”

“Please don’t,” Ori squeaked. “I don’t want to think about that, Nori. I just—“

“Want to cling to hope?” Nori snarled. “There _is_ no hope, Ori. There’s no _luck_. There’s only skill and how you use it.”

“Then what do _you_ suggest, Nori?” Dori broke in, his hair practically bristling from suppressed rage. “There’s nothing to be had here by skill, guile or outright theft. What do we have other than hope? Don’t discourage him.”

“How about _nothing_ ,” Nori snapped. “We have _nothing_ , Dori. There is _nothing_ between here and Long Lake. I’ve seen the maps.” He paused to laugh bitterly. “Unless you count the elves. Not that _they’ll_ be any help.”

“Elves?” Bilbo asked, his expression perking up for the first time since this conversation had begun. “Like in Rivendale?”

“No,” Nori scoffed. “Not like the elves of Rivendale. From what I hear, there’s no great city of stone, no grand halls. These are savage brutes, rather put an arrow in you than look at you. ‘Less you’re a cup of wine. I hear they’re pretty fond of that. Nope, we’re on our own, lads. In this together until the bitter end, and bitter it’ll be.”

Kíli listened to their conversation in silence. While he normally would have joined in, especially with Bilbo and Bofur, he was hoping that by staying silent he wouldn’t have to hear one of his companions say what his conscience was screaming; it was all his fault. Worse even than the hunger pangs were the waves of guilt that rocked his very core. His mother’s motto rang in his ears, but for the first time in his life he understood his brother and uncle’s skepticism. Where was the hope in this situation? Even _if_ they made it through the woods, they had no bait. How were they to catch fish? It was late summer; most of the berries were gone. It was too early for nuts to fall. Where did Uncle think they were going to find food? And he’d put them here, facing starvation for his own foolish pride. They were going to die and it was his fault.

“Stop it,” Fíli muttered from beside him.

“I’m not doing anything,” Kíli muttered, trying to remain as quiet as possible. Especially with tempers the way they were it was best not to draw attention. If they turned on him—which he couldn’t fault them for—he knew he couldn’t defend himself and he wasn’t sure anymore that anyone else would.

“You’re thinking,” Fíli replied, a small, sad smile on his face. “You look too much like Uncle when you do that. Much too serious. Doesn’t become you.”

“ It’s not the time for jokes, Fíli,” Kíli sighed.

“It’s exactly the time for them,” his brother quipped. Kíli looked at him in disgust only to see that Fíli’s face betrayed his light tone. He was as worried as the rest of them. Perhaps more. There were creases in his forehead that Kíli had a feeling had become permanent fixtures.

“How so?” Kíli sighed. There was nothing even vaguely humorous about this situation.

“You heard them,” Fíli said. “They’re terrified.”

“They should be,” Kíli retorted, glancing around before leaning in and whispering in his brother’s ear, “we’re going to die.”

“Like you and I almost did in the stream?” Fíli replied. “Or when the trolls almost cooked us? What about on the cliffs during the thunder battle, or Go—“ his voice choked and he had to clear his throat before he could continue. “Or in Goblin Town? How about the cliffs with the Orcs? Uncle at the Eyrie? Beorn’s? Do I need to go on or do you see where I’m going with this? This isn’t the first time we’ve faced certain death.”

“But this time it’s _my_ fault,” Kíli practically sobbed. “ _I_ led us here.”

“Yes,” Fíli agreed with a shrug. “You did. You _almost dying_ delayed us. Just like uncle _almost dying_ delayed us. You need to—“

“Don’t you _dare_ tell me to ‘get over it.’ Not after all the agonizing and wallowing and . . . and _moping_ you’ve done since Go— _that night_!” Kíli snarled, his own temper surfacing at the idea that Fíli thought he should just shelve his well-deserved guilt when he had nurtured his own.

“I don’t mope,” Fíli said, his tone sullen. “And there’s things I’ve done that you don’t know about. Things I’ve considered doing.”

“I’ve got a pretty good idea,” Kíli replied with a snarl, gesturing weakly to his cheek, before deflating once more. “And you do mope. Let me have this for a bit. After all, I deserve it.”

Any reply that Fíli would have made was lost in the clamor as the company was surrounded and seized by woodelves. Hands immediately went for weapons, but a bellowed command of “stay” from Thorin in Khuzdul stopped them. Instead, they turned to see their King before the elven commander, hands before him, palms up to show them empty.

“We wish to speak to the Elf King, Thranduil,” Thorin said simply, attempting to look down his nose at someone two feet taller than himself.

“And he wishes to speak with you,” the guard replied coldly. “Bind them.”

“That is unnecessary. We are no threat to you,” Thorin countered as the elves began following the command. He could hear the scuffles behind him as his company resisted, not that he could blame them. Rarely did things go well when they had been bound thus far. He couldn’t resist the groan that rose from him as an elf gathered his wrist behind his back, stretching things that had been in disuse since Goblin Town and pulling skin that had healed too tightly for such motions to be easy. At the sight of their King yielding to such treatment, resistance within the company died.  All save Kíli.

“Please no,” the young dwarf was begging. “You don’t understand. I _can’t_  do that! Please!” The last was almost a scream as the elf tried to get Kíli’s arm behind his back.

“He was recently ill, deathly so,” Thorin said, turning to the captain, hoping corroboration would stop this. “Infected wounds on his back.” With a glance from the haunted look in Thorin’s eyes to the pale, wan face of the dwarf in question, the guard shook his head.

“Bind them in front,” he said simply. “We cannot risk him being free but we are not _brutes_ ,” this was said with a pointed look at Nori, who at least had the shame to look abashed. “Come, we will bring them to the King.”

While the elves made some effort to shorten their steps, the dwarves and Bilbo were still forced to jog to keep up with their longer stride. As they lagged, long elven fingers came to rest around their arms to tow them along. While the faces around them were grim and there was no singing or threats bodily harm, Fíli found his chest growing tight with anxiety. The situation was far too familiar for his liking, then came the tunnel down into the ground. Bound, being dragged into the darkness, his mind began to race, carrying him back to the only other time he had been in a similar position.

Judging from the ragged gasps he could hear coming from his brother, and the way Kíli’s steps had faltered at the tunnel entrance, his wasn’t the only mind going back _there_. Even now, the echoing steps of themselves and their captors was morphing into a rhythmic beat, underneath which he could swear he could hear drums. The flickering torchlight turned shadows into chasms. If he didn’t keep his eyes on them, the long fingers holding his arm gently but inescapably became claws. Each breath was harder to draw than the last. He was panting. He didn’t even wonder how the other’s would see it, exertion or fear. He couldn’t think beyond the knowledge that he was bound, in the dark, captive and at their mercy once more. Elves, Goblins, what did it matter? Bound. Captive. Trapped. Helpless. Doomed.

Then, the tunnel emptied and they were suddenly in a hall filled with blinding sunlight. As one they were forced to their knees. Only then did a figure, clad in silver and green, immerge from the light. Stepping out of a shaft of sunlight and coming to stand before Thorin, he surveyed them all with cool, green eyes, clearly sizing them up and examining the situation.

“Tell me, Thorin Oakenshield,” Thranduil said, in a voice filled with boredom and dripping with scorn at the same time. “Why has a company of dwarves, and heavily armed ones at that, come into my kingdom? Do you seek war?” The question, simple enough in its asking, caused them all to have their blood turn to ice in their veins. It truly was Goblin Town all over again.


	59. The Elf King

“I will repeat myself once more,” Thranduil said, looking from one shocked, pale face to the next. “Why have you entered my kingdom?”

"We did not intend to enter your kingdom at all," Thorin said, all his intentions of begging for help evaporating in the face of the Elf King’s haughty attitude. "We were merely traveling through to the mountains. We never meant to come here."

At his words a sob left Kíli. “No, no no no no no,” he said shaking his head desperately. “Not again. We can’t do this again, Uncle. I can’t. Please, no. Just tell him. Tell him what he wants to know. Don’t make us do it again.” He curled in on himself, his forehead nearly touching the ground and his breath coming in great shuddering gasps with more of the same kind of thoughts intermingled.

For the first time since they had been brought in, Thranduil’s mask shifted and confusion and concern took its place. He glanced from Thorin to the clearly terrified young dwarf. He couldn’t imagine what had happened to make such a simple, and reasonable, question cause such a reaction. For a moment he regretted asking it. Disdain and pride from dwarves he was accustomed too, long before his feud with Thorin. But this . . . this he had never seen before. What had happened to this dwarf? As he glanced around once more, this time looking into their eyes, he saw the same fear in all of them, especially in Thorin and the young blonde. What had happened to them all?

“Goblins,” Thorin supplied, seeing the unasked question, knowing that attempting to conceal it would only make matters worse. “We ran afoul of Goblins in the Misty Mountains while crossing the High Pass. They . . . there was torture involved.” Thranduil was appalled at the revelation. He knew only too well of what Goblins and Orcs were capable. No wonder the lad was terrified. Bound and interrogated . . . the thought trailed off and indignation took its place. He was terrified of torture from _them._

“By Nienna! What do you teach your children, Thorin?!” he snapped, righteous indignation that dwarves would consider them capable of the same atrocities as _goblins_ pushing aside his worry for scaring the child further. “We would never . . . free their hands!”

“Sire,” the guard began slowly, reluctance clear in every line of his body. “They are armed still.”

“Free them,” Thranduil ground out, pacing back towards his throne. “Now. And send for a healer. He bleeds.” He sat heavily on his throne, his elbows on his knees and fingers tented before his face attempting to regain his composure as he listened to the dwarves being freed. His conscience prickled further as he heard the young one struggle against having his bonds cut.

“Let me,” the blond said, stepping forward and unsheathing a knife from his sleeve before his expression changed and he shook his head. “Here, Uncle. You do it. I . . . he won’t want me. Not right now.” In reality, Fíli was feeling just as shaken by the similarities of the situation and screaming in his head was the last time his brother had been bound on the ground like this and what had followed.  

_"Hold still," Fíli snarled, more angry at himself and the goblins than at Kíli—though Kíli had no way of knowing that. "I'll have you free in a moment. Now_ _hold_ _still_ _."_

_"Don't touch me!" Kíli snapped twisting away from his brother again and jostling Fíli's broken hand in the process. Fíli cried out in pain at the touch to the tender flesh and almost wondered if Kíli had done it on purpose before he forced the thought away. Even if he hated him Kíli would never knowingly cause him physical pain._

_"I'm trying to free you," Fíli said, trying to force his tone to be gentle when all he wanted to do was grab his brother and ask him how he could turn on him like he had. Didn't Kíli realize_ _why_ _he had done what he had? "If you'll just hold still for_ _one_ _second—"_

_"I'd rather stay bound," Kíli replied acidicly turning to glare at Fíli, his voice little more than a venomous hiss. His eyes showed none of the warmth that Fíli had always enjoyed. They were as cold and hard as the stone that the brothers knelt on._

_"You're a fool," Fíli snapped, tears filling his own eyes threatening to spill over. Shaking his head in disbelief that Kíli could truly hate him so, Fíli reached for him once again, only to have Kíli roll to the side rather than let him cut his bonds._

_"And you're a coward," Kíli whispered, his voice barely audible in the chaos. "I can't believe that I used to want to be like you."_

Even weeks out that conversation was burned into his mind. It had been pushed aside by later events, only to rush back to crystal clarity due to their current situation. And if it was clear for him . . . he wouldn’t force his presence on his brother and risk a repeat. His soul couldn’t take it. Not again. He couldn’t go back there again. Not and survive. Instead, he stood aside as his uncle cut his brother free and Kíli clung to him, muttering apologies, whether about the past or the present, none could guess.

The moment Kíli was free he flung himself at his uncle, gripping his coat and muttering apologies so rapidly that they tumbled over one another rendering them all unintelligible. He flinched as Thorin’s hand came down on his head only to relax slightly when, rather than grab it, his hair was petted and his uncle’s deep rumble filled his ears.

“Hush, lad,” Thorin said, stroking his hair with a sigh. As much as he hated to show Thranduil a weakness he could later exploit, he couldn’t bring himself to ignore Kíli’s need for reassurance. “Hush now. You’ve nothing to apologize for. You’re alright. It’ll be alright.” Rather than deny his nephew, he glared defiantly at the Elf King over his head, daring him to say anything about the show of tenderness. He didn’t. Instead he sighed.

“I do not wish to cause the lad more distress, Thorin,” he said softly. “However, I do need to know; why are you here? Why are you on _my_ path, frightening _my_ people? What brings you not only to my forest but almost to my very gates?”

“We were starving,” Thorin said, feeling that a partial truth would be better than a lie and perhaps would satisfy the Elf King. “Kíli, he became very ill on our way through. Infected wounds from the Goblins. We lost too much time and supplies ran low. We were hoping . . . I was hoping that, perhaps, you would see fit to aid us. For a price.”

“I expected no less from you, Thorin Oakenshield,” Thranduil said with what was almost a smile. “A half-truth at best. I do not doubt your story; I can see the mark of illness on him and the gauntness of the rest of your dwarves. Yet you did not answer any of _my_ questions.

“Fear not. I would not have wanted to hear the answer from you at any rate,” he continued, hating the horror he saw grip many of them at his words. “Not to say that I do not trust you, but it would be too easy for you to conceal a lie to me behind your beard. I would like to hear your purpose from the Halfling that travels with you. I find his presence strange—as I was under the impression that they never leave the Shire—and his lack of beard refreshing.” At his words, Bilbo was brought forward gently.

He looked around a bit nervously, flinching as he met Thorin’s hard glance, the warning clear there: tell them nothing about where we are going. Bilbo nodded and offered Thorin a small smile. He would not tell them the destination of the quest; however he would try to talk their way out of this. After all, he’d _almost_ done it before.

The Elf King had come down from the throne and knelt so that he was on the hobbit’s level, almost as though this were a friendly conversation rather than an interrogation. “Tell me, what are you called?”

“Bilbo, sir, I mean, Your Majesty,” the hobbit said, feeling that if he was going to do this he may as well do it right, ignoring the snorts from his companions as he used a title for the elf that he had never used for Thorin. “Bilbo Baggins of Bag End of the Shire.”

“Bilbo Baggins, a fine name,” the King replied with a smile. “Will you tell me why you were on our path?”

“Well, Your Majesty, we weren’t aware that it was yours, if you get my meaning,” Bilbo replied. “We were told that it was the safest way to traverse Mirkwood by Beorn. Especially as the Great Road leads to a Marsh now and we’re being chased.”

“Beorn, the skin-changer?” Thranduil asked in surprise, tuning out the last part of the hobbit’s statement after the name. Beorn was cantankerous at best and held no fondness for dwarves and would not have known of hobbits as he never ventured far from his own lands. How then had they come by his advice and lived to tell the tale?

“Yes,” Bilbo agreed, nodding emphatically. “One and the same. Gandalf led us to him after the Great Eagles dropped us—“

“Gandalf? What has he to do with this? And the Great Eagles?” The King asked, his surprise beginning to color his words. “I think you had better begin at the beginning, Bilbo. Tell me everything.” So Bilbo did, telling of how Gandalf and the dwarves had come to his home to ask him to be the fourteenth member of the company and then skimmed their adventures to date, never once telling _why_ they were traveling.

“You have kept strange company, Bilbo Baggins,” The Elf King said once he had finished. “Few in Middle Earth can lay claim to such a journey, and fewer hobbits than that. To have seen Imladris, the Great Eagles of Manwë, been lodged in the home of Beorn . . . had it not been for the openness in your face and the truth in your eyes I would accuse you of lying. Your tale is nigh unbelievable. And do not believe that I did not notice that you never told me _why_ you are traveling, however the reason is no longer relevant. If so many great powers have blessed your journey, who am I to impede it no matter the destination? I hold no love for dwarves, especially those once of Erebor; however, we will give you what aid we can and send you on your way. _Without_ a price attached to it, Thorin Oakenshield.”

“Take them to the guest quarters,” he said turning to the guards once more. “The healers and a meal will meet you there.”

“We thank you for the meal, however healing supplies would be more than sufficient,” Thorin said, somewhat reluctant to allow an elf access to his nephew or any of his company. “We have healers of our own.”

“Nonsense,” Thranduil countered. “You are weeks out from the Misty Mountains, yet the lad nearly succumbed to infection in my forest.  Clearly your healers are inferior to my own. I noticed that you are moving much more stiffly than a dwarf of your age should, Thorin. You too have sustained poorly treated injury. Your other lad, his hand needs a proper dressing, not sticks and twine. Others of your company are likely to need treatment as well.  Allow us to help.”

“I’d like to see you do better in the field with little to no supplies,” Óin spat, hating having his work picked apart by such a condescending, removed _elf_. “You weren’t there. You don’t know the choices we had to make.”

“I know them well,” Thranduil said sadly, too accustomed to dwarves to be truly offended by such an outburst. “I, too, have seen the ravages of war and been forced to make do where the correct tools were absent. However, those dire circumstances were temporary, as were the choices they necessitated. Now the correct tools are on hand. It would be foolish to refuse them out of pride.” The Elf King’s choice of word stirred something in Thorin. Weren’t they in the position they were now, starving beggars on the door of an elf, due to pride.

“We will accept your offer” Thorin replied, cutting off whatever his cousin was about to say. “My thanks in advance.” He bowed his head slightly, little more than a nod really, and Thranduil did the same in return.

“Eat, and rest,” the Elf King said. “The sooner you are whole the sooner you can leave.” Once they were gone, he sank to his throne once more. The anguished look in the eyes of that young dwarf burned in his mind.  While it stirred his pity, it also stirred his curiosity; what had happened under the mountains to leave such a proud race so vulnerable? While they were under his roof, he hoped to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter. I feel it needs a bit of explanation. I have long believed—ever since I first read The Hobbit years ago—that had Thorin and Co. just come clean things would have gone much better for them in Mirkwood. I am fairy certain that the cause of the feud between Thorin and Thranduil was created just for dramatic effect in the movie (like so many other things . . . Azog *cough cough* Tauriel . . .etc.)   
> But even without it, there would be a certain distrust between them given the long and bitter history of elves and dwarves. I think imprisoning dwarves that come right to your door (where the elf path actually led) and who refuse to tell you why they’re there is reasonable . . . as is—hear me out—Thorin’s refusal in the book to parlay while they are camping armies at his gate. Politics are nasty things, especially when century-old prejudices are involved. But in the case of Thranduil, I really feel that it was character assassination for drama’s sake. (Not that it can’t be argued that I have done similar here)
> 
> I think with a bit of honesty, Bilbo’s sneaking about with the ring wouldn’t have been necessary.  
> What do you think?  
> Stickdonkeys


	60. Healing and Prognoses

Despite what the Elf King had said, as they were led through the twisting halls of his palace more than one of the company feared that “guest quarters” was elvish subterfuge for “dungeon.” It wasn’t. True to his word, they were led into a bright, massive chamber with bays of beds with curtains for doors around the perimeter.

“A meal will be provided as soon as it can be made available. However it will take some time to arrive,” the elf who had led them there said, his voice and face impassive. “There is a bathing chamber to your far right, if you wish to bathe prior to eating. The healers will tend to any wounds you have over there. Welcome to the Greenwood.” With that he left the room, leaving the dwarves standing in an awkward silence with the elvish healers dressed in pristine silver cloth. None of them made a move for any of the amenities offered; instead they stayed clustered together, all of them glancing around wondering when the trap would be sprung.

“Who among you is wounded?” a tall female asked softly, worried about straining the obviously suspicious company. She didn’t want any of her people wounded should the dwarves feel provoked to attack. “Each of us can see to one at a time.”

 No one spoke, unable to do more than gape at her gentle tone. There was no scorn in her ancient eyes, only concern.  Though they still cast nervous glances around, it was beginning to occur many of them that, perhaps, this was not a trap. There was a moment’s silence where the dwarves shifted uncomfortably, unwilling to admit to these _elves_ that there were injuries that _dwarves_ could not see to without their help. Seeing that the others were unsure what to do and knowing that the company needed the materials they could provide even if not their actual aid, Thorin reluctantly stepped forward.

“I am,” he said, standing as straight as he could. “I  . . . there were goblins. The wounds are somewhat old now but trouble me still. Perhaps you can help. My nephews, too, as well as Bofur and many others in the company are in need of healing.”

“Come then,” she said gesturing to one of the low couches with a small smile. Thorin took a deep breath—more anxious than he wanted to admit about leaving the safety of the company—and followed her direction, sitting on the couch a swallowing back the sudden rush of discomfort at the thought of baring his wounds to her and the company who, with the exception of his nephews and Bilbo hadn’t seen them since they were treated the first time. When he had sat immobile for a time, she laid one, impossibly thin, large hand on his. He jumped at the feeling, unaccustomed to such casual touch, especially from an elf.

“I must see them to treat them,” she reminded him, her alien eyes holding what almost looked like understanding. “Do you require assistance to remove your garments?” He shook his head sharply, the memory of the last time such large hands had “aided” him in removing his clothing rushing to the forefront of his mind nearly taking his breath. He pulled his hands away from her on instinct.

“No,” he ground out. “I can do it.” She nodded and waited patiently as he undid the fastenings and began the arduous task of removing his coat. He managed that much, and began to attempt to remove his shirt, however within moments had to admit failure. Certain motions were still beyond him.  He glanced over at the company, all of whom were watching the proceedings with distrustful glares, hoping one of them would aid him. They were too preoccupied watching her for signs of treachery to notice the silent plea in his eyes. He jumped at a feather-light touch on his shoulder.

“I will be gentle,” she promised, her hands moving towards him so slowly they were almost not, her strange green eyes staring out from a face far too young to contain them, gauging his reaction as she grasped the hem of his tunic and began removing it. She tried to guide his arm up to remove it but stopped at his groan.

“I can’t . . .” he trailed off, the words stopping in his throat at the idea of telling an _elf_ of his physical limitations. Of admitting to such weakness to an _outsider_ , not to mention his company who was standing well within earshot. And anyone else who might be spying on them. Everything within him screamed to stop. That it was wrong for him to do, to tell their potential enemies, and potential dissentients, that the King could not wage war. But they were not at war, were they? With a final glance at Kíli’s pale face, he realized that he _had_ to tell her. How could she help him if she didn’t know what was wrong?

“My shoulders were dislocated,” he said, unable to look at her while he admitted it. “Twice. I can’t lift my arms over my head yet.” She nodded, but said nothing and directed him to dip his head so that the neck of his shirt could be guided over it before sliding it down his arms. He heard her hiss of breath as she took in the mass of scars that littered his chest and back. Not for the first time, he wondered if this had been a bad idea. Her hand was barely there as she closed it around his wrist to move his arm to get a better look at the long burn across his ribs. He swallowed in attempt to douse the growing nausea in his gut at the feeling of his entire wrist being encased and manipulated, but did not pull away, knowing he needed to set a good example for the rest.

“Goblins,” she scoffed, her cool fingers ghosting over the healing scar, a motion he could see but not feel. “Brutal, vile creatures. This must have hurt. Though I have heard they prefer whips and knives to fire.”

“They do,” Thorin shook his head. “The initial knife wounds were their fault. After that we had to close them. They were too deep and I was losing too much blood.”

“So your company. . .” she trailed off, unable to contemplate closing one wound, let alone many, by so barbaric a method. Her people had clays and spider silks for that. Never had she been forced to resort to _fire._ Despite herself she was impressed by the survival of the dwarf before her. So much trauma in so little time. Most would not have survived.

“They had no choice,” Thorin countered, seeing the disgust on her face and misinterpreting it as a judgment on his people. “The wounds were deep and many. I would have died had they not cauterized them.”

Fíli and Kíli both flinched at the calm admittance of what they had only ever feared. Their briefly exchanged glance reflected their shared horror at what they had done. Neither of them had seen Thorin’s wounds in the light of more than a few candles since they had happened. It was worse that they had remembered.

She simply nodded, knowing his words to be true on his chances of survival in the wild with so many wounds. After that she looked at him for a time, touching lightly here, poking there, asking him to move this way and that before she sighed.

“There is little I can do for you,” she finally said softly, shaking her head sadly. “Had you been brought to me before,” her face twitched slightly before she continued, “you were _treated_ , I could have restored nearly full function. As it is, many muscles were severed and then the severed ends cauterized. Damage such as that I cannot repair without significant risk to your life and without assurance of success. I can offer balms to soften the scars and perhaps improve their range of motion. However I cannot repair the severed muscles. You will never have full use of them again by my hand. Perhaps Lord Elrond of Imladris or the Lady Galadriel’s people could do more. Many skills have been lost to us as the Greenwood has darkened. I am sorry. I have no more to offer you.”

“I had feared that,” Thorin said solemnly, feeling his hope sink as she confirmed what he had only feared. “As your king said, we are many weeks from Goblin Town and I should have recovered more function than I have, despite the severity of my injuries at the time. Dwarves are made to be as sturdy as the mountains we come from.”

“But not indestructible,” she countered. “As with the great mountains, time and ill-treatment wear them down. I can think of no circumstances where a Man—and perhaps not even an Elf—would have survived these wounds. With time you will regain strength as other parts take the place of the injured. However, it is unlikely that you will ever be as you were before.”

“I never will,” Thorin agreed, taking his shirt from her and nodding slightly. “Perhaps it is for the best. I thank you for your efforts.”

“Useless though they were,” she finished. “Perhaps I can be of more assistance to another of your company?”

“My nephews,” Thorin replied, gesturing for them to come to his side. While neither of them wished to consent to examination, they found they couldn’t deny him anything at the moment.

 “Kíli has wounds on his back and arm and Fíli’s hand was broken in Goblin Town,” Thorin continued. She nodded and turned to Kíli first. She reached for him to aid him, but the lad flinched violently away from her touch and cringed back towards his family. He was only stopped by his uncle’s hand on his wrist.

“Uncle,” Kíli breathed, hearing the plea in his own voice, shaking his head at his weakness. First in the throne room and now here. Again, just like _there_ , he was giving their captors something to exploit. He knew that he needed to compose himself but it was too much like goblin town, even if it was different. Large hands grasping at him. Singled out again with no chance of refusal. Even if he wasn’t bound anymore, he was still captive. _Things got worse in Goblin Town when they unbound you,_ his mind hissed, images of blood and the ghost of a knife handle in his hand, a coppery stench filled his nose rising to the surface.

His chest felt tight at the realization that no matter how beautiful and open it was it was still a cell. They had no way to leave until _they_ decided they could. And who knew what they were going to do in the meantime. They could be trapped there forever for all they knew. Especially if their captors good will ran out. They were alive for all that that was worth, and together. _We were together **there** too,_ _did it help then?_ Again he could feel the vibration of a knife through flesh and the metallic tang of blood filled his mouth running down his throat and drowning him.

“Kíli,” he vaguely heard his name but it was only at the sharp sting on his cheek that he opened his eyes and saw his brother standing before him staring at him in concern. It was only then that he became aware of his chest heaving and the actual blood running in his mouth where he had bit his tongue in an attempt to remain silent. He let out a shuddering breath, still clinging to his brother.

“Fíli,” he breathed, grabbing two fistfuls of his brother’s hair and pressing their foreheads together so tightly it hurt, focusing on that real pain over the ghosts of pain he couldn’t admit to feeling. He felt Fíli’s good hand fist the back of his hair, forcing them closer still.  

 “We’re not there,” Fíli whispered. “I know it’s like it. I see it too but it’s different this time.”

“Is it?” he breathed. “We’re captives again. Totally at their mercy.”

“Guests,” Fíli corrected, trying to calm his brother with assurances he was unsure of himself. “They said we’re not prisoners. Regardless, it will never play out like that again. I swear it.” Kíli pulled back and saw absolute certainty burning in his brother’s eyes before a hand touched his arm. Without his conscious decision to do it, his hand was on his dagger, fear leaving him panting once more before he recognized his uncle’s hand and released the weapon.

“The healer, lad,” Thorin reminded him, his eyes both gentle and determined. “You need to let her have a look at you.”

“It can wait until he is more comfortable with us,” she countered, seeing the stress the situation was putting on the young dwarf, the way his dark eyes darted around the room looking for escape. Even knowing nothing else it was clear to her that his uncle hadn’t been the only one to experience the _hospitality_ of the goblins.

“He nearly succumbed to infection,” Thorin countered. “He needs to be seen.” Kíli nodded, knowing the truth in his uncle’s words even as everything in his being fought against allowing one of his captors anywhere near him. His hands shook as he undid the fastenings of his garments, the tremors so fierce that it took him more than one try on many of them.

“This can wait,” the elf repeated, taking in his tremors and the way his breath hitched in his chest. “I will give your people the supplies to care for his wounds as they see fit.

“No,” Kíli ground out. “Uncle’s right. Just, be quick about it.” She nodded, his consent all she needed. As she approached him to aid in the final removal of his shirt, she wished for the first time that the dwarves had been disarmed. She approached Kíli much as she would any wounded animal, with caution and in his line of sight. There was no telling what he might do if startled.

As much as he hated to force his nephew to be seen, Thorin wanted to see what she would make of Kíli’s chances for full recovery. She had been brutally honest as to his chances and had told him precisely what he had figured out on his own about himself. He wanted to see if his grim predictions for his nephew’s future held true as well. Óin had needed to cut deeply to find clean blood. There was a chance it would impede the lad’s movements as well.

She began with the wound on his arm, examining it closely while also gauging his reaction to her proximity. It took only moments. The mark on his cheek, likewise, took little time.

“These are well tended,” she whispered, worried even a normal tone would startle him. “Nearly healed, even. I believe the stitches can be removed. I will allow one of your people to do that for your comfort. Your uncle said that you have wounds on your back as well. I need to—“ before she could finish her request, he spun, presenting her with the raw wounds there. The bruising around the wounds confirmed her suspicions as to what had happened, but she didn’t dwell on that now, choosing instead to complete the examination as quickly as possible.

“This has been well tended,” she said, scrutinizing the healing flesh, her cool touch barely palpable to Kíli, much to his relief. “It will scar. However you should have no lasting impact from it. I will insure that you are provided with meat to aid in healing it. Would that they had left your wounds open as well.” She said turning to face Thorin again and gratefully stepping away from his nephew.

“I would have died,” Thorin replied, no doubt in his mind that he spoke the truth. “If not immediately then over the next few days as the stitches were pulled and I bled in our continued escape.”

“I would think death preferable to permanent disability for a dwarf,” she said, only just grasping how dire the situation must have been for them to make the decision they had, knowing what the outcome would be. She hadn’t failed to notice that he wasn’t surprised by her words.

“I am maimed, not disabled,” Thorin countered, painfully drawing himself up straight. “And they were wounds gained in defense of kin against an enemy. There is no shame in that.”

“You will never wield a hammer or an ax,” she clarified. “Too much muscle was cut and burned. You’ll never have the strength for it. I am afraid that is the definition of disabled.”

“Disabled?” Fíli breathed, ice flooding his veins at the word. It was the worst thing that could happen to a dwarf. Craftsmen by blood, they did not do well when they could not work in their trade of choice. And his uncle was a blacksmith. Fíli and Kíli had taken that from him. He had taken it. True, the Goblin had commanded deep cuts, but he had been the one to do it. He had been the one to cut until he felt the knife bounce on bone. The long burn she had kept coming back to . .  .it had been his. The choice of direction there had been his. He had chosen it because there were no major vessels but he hadn’t thought past immediate survival. _He_ had crippled his uncle with his choices.

“No, lad,” Thorin said sternly, taking Fíli’s face between his hands. “Look at me,” he commanded, seeing the distant look in his nephew’s eyes and hearing his breathing become labored, nearly a match to Kíli’s moments before. Fíli’s blue eyes flicked to his own before darting away once more, unable to hold his uncle’s gaze.

“Look at me,” he repeated, placing his forehead against Fíli’s. Almost against their will, Fíli’s eyes found Thorin’s.

“Good lad,” the elder said, pulling back slightly and holding his nephew’s gaze, willing Fíli to see that he meant what he said. “Don’t even think it. You’ve said it before and were wrong then as well. Even if she _is_ right. This is _not_ your fault. Don’t ever think it.”

“But I did it,” Fíli breathed, his own hand coming up to tangle in his uncle’s hair as his eyes closed and his forehead came back to rest against Thorin’s. “I did it. This was by my hand. Mine and Kíli’s.”

“Oh, Lad,” Thorin sighed, hating the pain he could see in both of them. “I don’t blame you. It was your hand but it wasn’t your will. It was the goblin’s. And _mine_. You did what you did at _my_ bidding. I forced you to do it. Any blame that is not the goblins is _mine_. It was my choice. I have _never_ blamed you for this, Fíli.”

“Kíli did,” Fíli countered his voice miserable. “And he was right to. I didn’t see it then but I am not fit to call you uncle. You’ll never get to smith again. Because of me.”

“Because of _us,_ ” Kíli corrected, his voice soft. “I did my damage too. It wasn’t just you. I was wrong to say it was. We’re both terrible nephews.”

“You’re not. You both did as I told you to. Besides, I’ll be fine, lads,” Thorin said, not knowing what else to say. He could tell them all he wanted that it had been his will, but nothing could erase the truth that it had been their hands that had carried it out. He could exonerate them of wrongdoing as often as he wished and formally on paper, but he couldn’t make them believe it. Not when they had literally had a hand in it. It was something they would just have to make peace with in their own way. He couldn’t help them.

The healer opened her mouth, clearly uncomfortable with the track the conversation had taken, but Thorin stopped her with a glare. He wouldn’t have her refute his statement at the moment and trouble the lads further.

“What of Fíli’s hand,” he demanded, changing the topic. She nodded, sensing the need to move on and held her hand out for his. Only slightly steadier than his brother, he held it out to her. Once the bandages were unwrapped, she probed the bone, her slim fingers cool and alien. There were still a couple of places that caused his face to flinch slightly, but he bore her touch well.

“Nearly healed,” she declared. “Do this,” she instructed spreading and closing her fingers into a fist. The motions were stiff, but Fíli found that he could make them with minimal discomfort. She hummed in approval.

“He will have full use of it,” she said, no hint of doubt in her voice. “While he is here and safe, we can forgo the splint for a soft wrap and give him a little more use of it. On the road, however, I would recommend resplinting it to protect it from reinjury. I can provide you with appropriate materials before you go.”

“Thank you,” Fíli muttered, unable to meet her gaze as he wasn’t certain he was happy to bear no lasting mark from his wrongs against his uncle. Not when his uncle would live a reminder of their actions every waking moment.

“If they will have us, we will see to the rest of your company now,” she said, gesturing her cohort over to the dwarves, thankful to be done with the three and hoping there were none of the rest so damaged. “I am certain that there are more injuries to be seen. I would suggest a bath. The water will soothe your aches.” _And perhaps distance from us will soothe your minds,_ she finished silently. Thorin nodded and took each of his nephews by the elbow, leading them to the baths, hoping perhaps in private they could have a rational discussion about guilt.

The healer didn’t miss the tension that left the remainder of the company at the departure of the three. It was almost as if they had all been holding a breath and only just released it. She wondered anew just what these dwarves had been through before pushing it aside once more. She was there to treat wounds, not farm for answers. Even so, she was relieved when her next patient was the hobbit. Much less suspicious and tense than the dwarves, his minor scrapes were a pleasure to treat by comparison, as was the light conversation he engaged her in. She wondered how such a creature got involved with dwarves but did not ask. She couldn’t see such a gentle creature coming willingly and that would make his personal history quite grim. She was not certain that she could stomach the answer after what she had already deduced.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, ya'll this isn't quite the step back that it appears. For the first time for one of these breakdowns, everyone is awake, alert and at least one of them is in a pretty good mental shape (holy crap, it's Thorin this time) so some progress will come from this, even if it seems dark now. Bear with me. I promise.


	61. Baths and Talks

As the door to the baths closed with a click behind them Kíli jumped, pulling his elbow from Thorin’s grasp in his attempt to check the room for the trap waiting to spring. He wouldn’t be taken by surprise. Not again. Before they took him again they would pay in blood. The fact that no one was behind the door waiting to grab him did nothing to alleviate his fears. In a way, he was impressed by the elves; waiting to spring their trap increased anxiety and would make it all the easier to break them when they tried.

“It isn’t a trap, Kíli, lad,” Thorin sighed, weary from their exertions and the additional stresses of the day—first the encounter with Thranduil and then the healer’s confirmation of his own fears—sapping his energy. “There is not _going_ to be a trap. We’re _guests_ , not prisoners.” _Not yet,_ the cynical part of his mind added. He tamped the thought down. Now was not the time for it, not with Kíli already so tense.

“How do you _know_ , Uncle?” Kíli gasped, his eyes darting around the room and reminding Thorin of a trapped animal more than his hopeful nephew. It broke his heart to see such an acute change in the lad, even if he could see how Kíli had come there. The similarities of the situation hadn’t been lost on him either. He, too, had felt the stab of fear as Thranduil had asked the same question as the Goblin King, however, he had other memories of the Elf King to fall back on and had known things wouldn’t end in torture here. Wood elves were capricious at best but they were not needlessly cruel. Treacherous, perhaps, but not cruel.

“They’re elves, lad,” Thorin said, hearing the weariness in his own voice. “Not goblins. At worst we will need to ransom ourselves if they realize there is profit to be made in keeping us. No one will be torturing anyone, lad. You have my word.”

“We’ve had your word before, Uncle,” Kíli said, his eyes still wild though his motions had stilled somewhat. “All my life you’ve warned me of the treachery of elves and now here we are; at _their_ mercy. And now you want me to trust them! Why should I? Tell me.”

“The very reason you can’t, Kíli,” Thorin sighed, shaking his head. “Thranduil is many things, lad. More than I can possibly explain now. One of the main things, and key here, is that he is proud. You wounded his pride, lad. In the throne room. The panic you feel, _that_ is our guarantee, Kíli. Your reaction to the similarities of the situation—“

“Why, Uncle?” Fíli cut in, his voice soft, defeated. “Why did you let it happen that way again? It was Goblin Town all over again.”

“It wasn’t,” Thorin argued, wondering if he had been too harsh in his condemnation of elves in the past that his nephews couldn’t see the stark difference in the situations. “We were _never_ in danger this time. Not once the elves found us. We _needed_ to be captured, lads. We wouldn’t have survived to Lake Town otherwise. Thranduil just wanted to know why we were in his woods. Dwarves don’t normally come here if we can avoid it. It was _different_.”

“It wasn’t,” Kíli countered, his voice edging towards hysteria as the memories closed in once more. He could nearly feel the hands on his arms again. “Dwarves don’t normally go to Goblin Town either, Uncle. We were trussed up and drug there, too. You could have just answered his questions this time. What would it have hurt? Mahal, you could have done it _then._ None of this had to happen.”

 Thorin sighed, shaking his head. The lads didn’t understand the situation and it was his fault. Had he explained things better in the past perhaps they would. Yet he also knew that he would get nowhere attempting to explain it now, with their nerves so high.

“Nothing can change what happened, lads,” Thorin sighed, knowing that he couldn’t placate them, but trying to end the conversation. “Would that I could, but we can only move on from where we are. Let’s bathe before the rest of them join us. I don’t know that I feel up to the inevitable horseplay at the moment. I’ve had more than enough of being poked and prodded today.” _And pity,_ he thought as he removed the remainder of his clothing. _I’ve had more than enough of that too._

“How are you so calm about all of this?” Fíli scoffed, disbelief written in every line of his body. He couldn’t believe that his uncle couldn’t seem to care less about his situation. Not the capture, if his uncle said it was different he would believe him—long habit of deferring to his uncle surfacing again in his shock—but the _news_. How could it have no affect on his uncle’s demeanor?

“Fíli, lad,” Thorin groaned, thinking that his nephew wanted to rehash their “capture” again. “I know the elves. They won’t—“

“Not that. I’m still not sure what they’re going to do but . . . She, that healer, she just told you that . . . that. . .” he trailed off unable to complete his sentence and make it final. Hearing an elf say it was one thing, but for it to pass his own lips; that felt like he was issuing the condemnation himself. Like he already had when his hand had done as the goblin commanded. He couldn’t be responsible for both _doing_ it and _saying_ it.

“She told me nothing I hadn’t suspected, lad,” Thorin whispered, sinking into the warm water with a groan. Oh, how he had missed hot springs! “You should join me. The water is wonderful.”

“What do you mean you suspected it,” Fíli snapped, his temper rising to the surface at his uncle’s dismissive attitude. It was as if the news or the implications for the future meant _nothing_ to him. “You never said anything!”

“I didn’t want to worry anyone needlessly if I was being pessimistic, especially since we had more pressing concerns,” Thorin said, leaning his head back on the wall of the pool, hoping that by staying calm he could calm them as well. “It’s not as though anyone thought I’d be leading a battle charge anytime soon.” He gave a bitter laugh at the thought, though there was a pang as he realized he would probably never be able to do it again.

“You still could have told us,” Kíli said, slipping out of his clothes and sliding into the water opposite his uncle, keeping a knife near his shoulder just in case. “You _should_ have told _us_ what we’d done, even if you weren’t going to tell _them_. _We_ deserved to know.”

“Why?” Thorin demanded, disliking that his nephews were partnering up against him. While he was glad to see them working as a team again, it galled him to be their target. “What purpose would it have served? Could either of you have done anything about it? Other than needlessly wallow in guilt?”

“We could have . . .” Kíli began before trailing off once more unsure how to finish. Even had their uncle told them back at Beorn’s, it wasn’t like it would have changed anything. Kíli, in particular, would have been useless given his own recent brush with illness.

“Blamed yourselves sooner,” Thorin supplied, mentally scolding himself for his sharp tone, hadn’t he just decided to remain calm? “That is all that would have come from it. That’s all that _will_ ever come from it. You can’t fix this, lads. The _elves_ can’t fix it. There is nothing to do but move on. Conceal it if we can but move on all the same.”

“More secrets and lies,” Fíli sneered, moving to stand behind his brother. “Is that _really_ your solution? We’ve seen how well _those_ work and how people react when they come to light. Which this will! There are thirteen of us that know, fifteen if you count Gandalf and Bilbo. Not to mention that _she_ will probably tell Thranduil, and who knows who _he’ll_ tell. How do you expect to keep something like being a . . . a . . . well, being—“

“Crippled, lad,” Thorin cut in, his own ire rising that his nephew would dare to lecture him on openness and honesty when he couldn’t even bring himself to say the word. “You may as well get used to the idea. It’s a reality now. And, yes, Fíli, secrets and lies are necessary in our lives. If we _do_ win back our mountain, how long do you honestly think we can hold it if it is widely known that Erebor’s king is unable to defend his people in battle?”

“And how do you plan to keep that secret, Uncle?” Fíli sighed, his own temper fading out of habit at his uncle’s show of irritation. “You _can’t_ wield a sword and she said you’d be unlikely to _ever_ be able to. How are you going to explain to the people when you stop training, sparring? No to mention working the forge. And—Mahal forbid— _what_ are you going to do if war comes? Go out and fight defenseless? Risk the lives of others to defend you when you cannot? What do you plan to do then?”

“I don’t know, Fíli,” Thorin ground out, dipping his head forward to rub his eyes. “What would you have me do, lad? Announce to the kingdom what happened? Admit it to everyone?” Fíli and Kíli’s blood turned to ice in their veins at the idea that the whole kingdom would know that they had crippled their uncle; it was bad enough that _they_ knew.

“Not that part, lads,” Thorin said, seeing the blood leave their faces at his words. “Never that part. I’ve said before that you are innocent of this. You will bear no connection to this, regardless of what I decided to do down the road. They will be wounds gained in defense of kin. No one will so much as _whisper_ that either of you are at fault for this.”

“But we are,” Kíli muttered, his shoulders slumping in defeat for the first time since they had entered the Elf Kingdom. “Even if you keep our part in it from the official record, _we_ know what we did. The company knows. And we all know it was because of me. The goblin wanted _me._ You should have let him have me. Then we wouldn’t have to lie. No one would have cared about a crippled _spare_.”

“I couldn’t have done that, lad,” Thorin replied, shaking his head, the phantom sound of Kíli’s cries of pain filling his ears and causing him to shudder. “I couldn’t have sat by and let them torture you. Better to be crippled a hundred times over than to have endured that.” Thorin didn’t miss the cloud that passed over his elder nephew, a glimpse of the darkness that had taken over briefly just out of Goblin Town.

“I am sorry that the burden of this fell on you, on _both_ of you,” he continued, looking at Fíli and seeing the hurt in his eyes when he met his gaze, he saw again the pain he had caused the lad in his attempts to protect Kíli from harm and it ate at his soul.

Holding Fíli’s eyes, trying to make the other feel his regret, he continued, “I wish that I could take it _all_ on myself but I can’t. I know that. Both of you had a hand in this. I understand why it pains you both. Please remember, it was my will, even though you were the ones forced to perform the acts.”

“I can’t do anything to change the past,” Thorin sighed. “Even if I could, I . . . I don’t honestly know what I would have done differently. Not in Goblin Town, anyway. Since it happened, I’ve thought of it often. Had nightmares of it, even, but . . . I can’t think of another way for it to have played out. If I hadn’t volunteered, it would have been Kíli, and odds are that you would have been pulled into it as well, Fíli, when you reacted to your brother’s pain, either as a participant or as another victim. I’m sorry, I know you suffer for it, but I _still_ feel I made the best choice I could.” He pulled his mind sharply away from the images it conjured of both of his nephews being tortured when Fíli refused to hurt his brother. Instead, he focused on them as they were before him now, whole and broken at the same time. As he looked from one solemn, unconvinced face to the next before he laughed, a bitter thing.

“I’m not your mother,” he said finally. “Would that I had half of her skill at soothing things over. For all her faults and poor choices, she always knows what to say. I don’t. I’ve said what I can, lads. I’ve got nothing else. I don’t blame you. That’s all I’ve got. It’s not forgiveness because there was never anything in my eyes to forgive. I don’t blame you. Make of it what you will.” When neither of them said anything more, Thorin forced his mind back o the task at hand.

As he tried and failed to get both his hands to the clasps in his hair, he realized that Fíli may have been more correct than he was giving him credit for. Unless he regained substantial amounts of dexterity, it would be impossible to keep this a secret. He only struggled for a moment before Fíli’s hands were there, undoing the fastenings and unraveling the braids with a practice that Thorin hadn’t expected. It was the first time to his knowledge—he couldn’t say for certain what had happened when he had been on death’s door—that the lad had _ever_ touched his hair.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Fíli muttered. “I just . . . I couldn’t watch you struggle.” _When it’s my fault_ , the words, though unspoken, hung between them.  Even with all that had happened and the new understanding between them, Fíli was worried that he had overstepped his place. While he’d never been _forbidden_ , he’d never been _invited_ either.

“I don’t mind,” Thorin returned, turning his head to facilitate the act. “Your hand though, lad.” Fíli shook his head in reply.

“Stiff and sore but it’ll be fine for this,” he said. “That’s what she said anyway. You may have to get someone else to rebraid it, though. I don’t know that I’m up to holding things for that long yet. Dip down and we’ll get this done before they get here.” Thorin said nothing but dipped under the water, wetting his head and staying under for a moment to let Fíli ensure the water made it to his scalp before rising, hating how out of breath even such a simple action left him.

Even once it was time to rinse out the soap he hadn’t completely recovered from his first dip. Knowing that at any moment the others would come streaming in, he forced down his discomfort and went under again. His urgency wasn’t lost on Fíli, who was scrubbing as fast as he was able. Thorin stayed under until his lungs burned hoping it would be the last time needed, but despite their best efforts, it was still there when he came up again.

“It may have to stay, lad,” Thorin panted. “I can’t do that again.”

“There’s a bowl in the shelf by the door,” Kíli said, his voice still tense. “That could help.” Thorin and Fíli both looked and, sure enough, there was a bowl there that neither of them had noticed. With a small laugh, Fíli stood and grabbed it.

“Sharp eye, Brother,” he said as he dipped some water with his left hand.

“I see everything anymore,” Kíli said softly. “Especially here.”

Those were the last words spoken as the completed their baths. None of them knew what else to say. They were all somewhat glad that none of the other company came to interrupt. While their silence wasn’t an entirely comfortable one, it wasn’t entirely _uncomfortable_ either. It was a tentative peace, a mark of where they were, but it was a peace all the same and none of them had the heart to break it. Not when they had all done it so many times before. Instead, they were content to rest in it, small though it was, and hope it was the start of something better to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of talking in this one but it was mostly necessary talking. Things get moving again in the next one.


	62. Food and Complications

Despite their haste, none of their company invaded their bath. Even once more time had passed than it should have taken for the healers to see to their companions’ wounds, no knock came at the door. They were both guilty and relieved that none of their company had felt comfortable coming into the bath while they were there. While they knew that the lads _had_ to long for the water, they also knew that they longed for a respite from the tensions in their family. What they didn’t realize as they hastily redressed and worked together to rebandaged Kíli’s wounds was that their company was not avoiding them, not entirely. Instead, they had found something with even more draw than a warm bath: food.

No sooner did Fíli push the door open than the smell hit their noses causing their stomachs to cramp painfully at the mere idea. Laid before the company was the largest meal they had seen since Rivendell, meats, greens, berries, bread. It was all there. Fíli felt a laugh rise up his throat at the sight. Not only had the elves fed them; they had been more than generous in going about it. There was even apple pie!

“Thank you,” he said, an emotion even he couldn’t even name choking the words as he turned to the elf that had led them there. “Thank you.” Even with the alien calm, the company could tell that he was taken aback at the sincerity of the gratitude.

“My King ordered you fed,” he said once he recovered a moment. “No thanks are necessary. I was merely following orders.”

“Then we request that you relay the depth of our gratitude to your king,” Thorin said, bowing his head slightly before sitting at the head of the table that had been laid out. “We did not expect such ample generosity. It will not be forgotten.”

The elf nodded once more before asking, “Is there anything more that you or your company require for the night?”

“You have given us more hospitality than we ever expected,” Thorin said by way of reply. The elf nodded slightly before backing out of the room, leaving the dwarves and Bilbo alone for the first time since they had arrived in the Woodland King’s realm. Silence reigned for a moment before Thorin laughed softly.

“Continue, lads,” he said, breaking off a bit of something resembling chicken for his plate. None of them moved to do as he instructed, appalled with themselves that they hadn’t waited for their king to begin their meal. It hadn’t even occurred to them to wait. When they had seen food they had pounced on it like ravenous wargs. The silence stretched on as they waited for the reprimand they were certain was coming for such a breach of protocol.

“Sire,” Balin began, attempting to head it off at the pass, and perhaps win back some favor while he was at it, “we humbly apologize for beginning the meal without you. It was just that—“

“Lads,” Thorin sighed, “when have we _ever_ stood on protocol? Especially since the quest began? Only a tyrant would expect that starving dwarves, or hobbits, would wait with food present. Especially as the one they were waiting on was enjoying a bath. There is nothing to apologize for and nothing to forgive.”

Balin shifted uncomfortably, wondering if Thorin was subtly accusing him of calling Thorin a tyrant before rejecting the idea. Thorin was many things; subtle was not one of them. If Thorin was going to confront him it would be directly. With that thought to comfort him, he picked up his fork and nodded before taking another bite of what was probably the best meal he’d ever had.

**ooOO88OOoo**

While the dwarves were enjoying their baths and meal, their healer was much less pleased with her situation. No sooner had she left the guest quarters than she had been summoned by the Elf King. It was with much trepidation that she answered his summons. While she respected their privacy, she would have no choice but to answer direct questions from her liege. Before she could even bow her head in acknowledgment of his status, the questions began flying from his mouth.

“How do our guests fare?” he demanded. “Is their tale true?” She paused to consider her answer, knowing that her words would carry far more weight than their own and choose them carefully.

“As to the veracity of their tale, I cannot speak on that as I was not there,” she said finally. “However, their leader has wounds consistent with both torture by goblins and field-treatment of grievous wounds.” She purposefully did not mention the fact that he would be impaired for life, nor the fact that his nephews had apparently been instrumental in the infliction of the wounds as more than just bystanders. While she would answer her king truthfully, there were things that were not hers to tell unless directly asked.

“Will he live?” Thranduil asked softly. While he had little care for the life of a single dwarf, there was a long history between himself and Thror’s line. The senseless death of an old ally under his roof did not sit well with him. Especially if his capture of said ally played any part in that untimely death.

“Yes,” she said, her eyes inexplicably melancholy as she attempted to skirt the truth once more. “His wounds have been well tended. Barbaric though the treatment was, it saved his life.” The Elf King nodded, weighing the stiffness in Thorin’s gait against the time that they said had elapsed and knowing what she had not said; the dwarf, though he would live would never be whole. The price for his life was his mobility.

“And the young one?” Thranduil asked, the memory of the panicked dwarfling flashing before his eyes once more and causing another pang of regret to wash over him.  Immediately behind that was a sense of resentment that his people had been so defamed by the erstwhile dwarves of Erebor that their children feared the wood elves with the same mortal dread as they did goblins.

“He, too, will live,” she said softly. “His wounds were clean and well tended as well. With adequate rest and food, he will heal.” Thranduil nodded and waved his hands to dismiss her.

“My Lord,” she said softly, attempting to regain his attention despite her dismissal. As he turned back to her she found the words were more difficult to say than she had anticipated. While her people needed to be warned of the potential danger, she hated that her words might delay the healing of the dwarves. In the end, her loyalty to her people won and she spoke, knowing her words might seal their doom.

“The young one, Kíli,” she said finally. “He fears us.” The king scoffed and waved her away again, any fool with eyes would know that. His behavior in the throne room had testified clearly to his fear. He couldn’t see why she was delaying him to report that.

“My Lord,” she began again, “I fear you do not understand the depth of his fears. He . . . he is like a trapped animal searching for escape. During my examination of him, he never calmed. He was tense as a strung bow. Were his uncle and brother not there to soothe him. . . I . . . I fear that he may be as dangerous as one as well.”

“He is a child,” Thranduil said, his tone dismissive. He failed to see how a frightened child could present a danger to his people. Visceral though his reactions might be, his people’s experience would protect them.

“A child well-trained in swordcraft,” she returned. “An untried warrior that sees us as a threat to him and his. One who has already failed to protect those same people from a threat with dire consequences. He is a danger to us. I beg you to warn any of our people that must interact with the dwarves to do so cautiously and to exercise particular care around him. I fear it would take little to provoke him to violence. If such violence were not anticipated, I fear the outcome.”

Thranduil nodded and sighed. “Your concerns have been heard and will be addressed,” he said waving her off for the final time before sinking into a chair once more. As he sat there, he wondered just how long the dwarves would need to stay before they could depart once more. If the healer was to be believed on the danger the child posed to them then even tomorrow might not be soon enough. While he had promised them aid, it could not be offered at a risk to his people. He would do what he must to protect his people and do his best to get the dwarves on their way as quickly as possible. It would not do to frighten the child further by sending in armed guards to protect his people and each encounter but neither could he allow them to be harmed for their kindness.

It was with that thought that he rose once more and made his way through his halls to the quarters the dwarves had been given. With a wry smile at the thought of knocking within his own realm, he raised his hand and knocked on the door allowing them a moment before entering. The dwarves were sitting around one of the tables eating as he entered, a surprisingly quiet affair for a dwarf meal, and only spared him a cursory glance and a nod before returning to the meal only to stop when they realized who had entered.

“Thorin Oakenshield,” he said softly. “I require a word. The rest of you may resume your dining. I only hope that you find the fare to your liking.” There was a chorus of thanks from the table, but his eyes never left the Dwarf King as he slowly levered himself to his feet, his blonde nephew surreptitiously aiding him in the effort. As he gestured them outside, he did not miss the subtle flick of Thorin’s fingers or the way half of the dwarves sat more firmly once more at it. It wasn’t just the young one that didn’t trust them. No, the dwarves would need to leave sooner rather than later.

“What do you wish to speak of, Thranduil?” Thorin sighed, leaning slightly against the wall, attempting to look bored but failing if one knew what to look for. The tension around his eyes and his shallow breathing giving away the effort the illusion was costing him.

“Your nephew, Kíli,” The Elf King replied sadly. “My healer came to me and expressed concern for the safety of my people. She fears that he may attempt to do them harm if startled. Are her fears founded?” He expected outrage and denial. Instead, Thorin sighed, looking instantly aged. He was silent long enough that Thranduil wondered if he would answer.  

“I don’t know,” he finally said. “A month ago I would have said she was mad. Now . . . both of my lads are so changed. Kíli, especially since he fell ill, has been on-edge and his brother is only now calming from the Goblins and the trials that followed.”

“I wish I could tell you that your people have nothing to fear but I cannot,” Thorin said softly. “I will do everything in my power to keep them safe from the company. However even that may not be enough. I am not fully recovered from the Goblins.” Even though he had realized that his condition could not long be kept from his own people, Thorin was loathe to admit his disability to such a shaky ally who had proved long ago to only have his own best interests at heart.

“I can send guards in with all emissaries if that is necessary,” Thranduil stated, “I will not have my people harmed.”

“No,” Thorin said, his tone sharp, no doubt in his mind as to how his nephew and many others would react to such a thing and not liking where it led. He could see no way that it would not end in blood and likely all of the company dead. Even as he tried to push the images away, they assaulted his mind.

 “That would be the worst thing you _could_ do,” he said, his foreboding thoughts showing in his voice. “I understand your need to protect your people but that would do the opposite.” Thranduil raised an eyebrow in curriousity as to how armed guards would put his people in danger and Thorin sighed.

“The company already fears this to be a trap, Thranduil,” he said wearily. “Armed guards would incite a panic. You would have more trouble to contend with than one frightened youngling. Even my word would not reassure them were armed guards to march into that room. When he attacked and his blood was shed by your guards to defend themselves the entire company will jump to his defense and they would all need to be subdued. I understand that we are your guests but while we remain guests and not prisoners I cannot allow you to send guards.”

“Then what do you propose I do, Thorin?” Thranduil asked, genuinely curious as to the dwarf’s suggestion. He could see no equitable solution other than the departure of the dwarves or their complete isolation. “My people _will_ _not_ come to harm for your company.”

“I wouldn’t ask it,” Thorin replied, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, hoping he wasn’t condemning them all to death. “Gift us the supplies we need to make it to Esgaroth on foot and we will leave tomorrow at first light. Despite the advantages of staying, I have come to see that the shorter our time here the better for all.”

“I will do better than that,” the elf King offered, surprised that Thorin would willingly reenter the wilds given his own state, not to mention the half-starved condition of his company. “Have you boatmen among you?”

“Aye,” Thorin said, wondering at the relevance of it. “I am skilled with a craft.”

“Any others?” Thranduil asked with a slight scoff. “Forgive me, but I couldn’t fail to notice you have limited use of your arms and even the short walk from the table left you slightly winded. The rapids in this part of the river would require more than you can give to safely navigate. If you are their only choice, the river is a death sentence. You would fare better on foot.”

“My cousins,” Thorin said, looking away in shame having been called on his weakness, but not bothering to deny it. There was no point anyway. “They too have operated crafts. They are mostly unharmed and capable of such rapids.” Thranduil nodded, again shocked by the calm Thorin possessed in light of his slight against the dwarf’s abilities.

“Then I will grant you crafts to travel downstream,” Thranduil said. “Simply leave them at the dock in Esgaroth and my people will collect them and pay the dock fee. I will send you with a letter bearing my seal that states as much. I will also give you provisions enough for a month and supplies to tend your wounded. Is there anything else you require?”

“No,” the dwarf said, astounded at the generosity the elf king was displaying. “May I ask, why are you doing this? You didn’t have to help us.”

“I did not,” Thranduil agreed. “However, the child’s fear . . . there is a long, bloody history between our races, Thorin Oakenshield. No one can deny that. And no true friendship will ever exist between our peoples. Be that as it may, no child should feel that kind of terror towards those not of Morgoth. I aid you now for that. Teach the children of your people that aid will be offered to those in need who come into my lands in openness and peace. If they pose no threat to me and _my_ people then they have naught to fear from us. I will not have the Wood Elves reduced to the same tier as Goblins and Orcs in the tales of the Khazad. That is all I ask in return for my generosity; teach them.”

“That I can do,” Thorin agreed. “Your aid of us in this time of need will not be forgotten.” Thranduil said nothing but nodded, taking the dwarf’s word as the promise it was.

“Rest well,” Thranduil said, turning and walking away. “Dawn comes early in the forest.”

“Our thanks for your hospitality,” Thorin said opening the door and returning to his company. He was slightly disturbed by how much they all relaxed at the sight of him, almost as if they hadn’t expected him to return. _Perhaps we have been too harsh in our condemnation of the Elves_ , he thought as he returned to the head of the table and filled the company in on the plan for the morning. He didn’t fail to notice the pallor the hobbit’s face took on at the mention of boats and rapids but he did not confront him in front of the company. Rather, he made a mental note to ask about it in the morning. With dinner, a bath and explanations of plans out of the way, Thorin made his way to the beds and tucked in for the night. Just before he drifted off, he wondered if commissioning an elvish bed for his rooms in Erebor would be seen as diplomacy or treason.

 

 


	63. Reality and Rational Fears

Dawn came and with it a meal and a call to rouse. Not only was a single meal provided but, as promised, enough dried provisions to last the next month. Once they had packed their things and broken their fast, one of the Elvish guard from the day before arrived with a couple of others to escort them to the docks.

“I don’t trust him, Uncle,” Kíli whispered grasping Thorin’s elbow firmly as his uncle made to follow the elf.”I _know_ it’s a trap. Why can't you see it? "Follow me down this dark tunnel to the docks.” That’s _not_ where he’s leading us. I don't care what their King said last night. They don’t trust us, Uncle.”

“And you don’t trust them,” Thorin returned. “Neither do I, lad. Not completely. But I do trust them to do what is best for them. And in this case, it is for them to get us on our way out of their lands as speedily as possible.”

“Death would accomplish that too,” Kíli scoffed. Thorin groaned in response. He knew that since their most recent capture his nephew had been paranoid but this was too much. A healthy level of cynicism was to be admired and cultivated but this was too extreme to be allowed to continue.

“Stop, that’s enough!” Thorin said, his tone sharp, scolding. His heart clenched as he noticed Fíli jump, dropping the pack he had been lifting with a thud in the process.A part of his mind whispered that Kíli had probably never heard it directed at him before and Fíli had heard it far too often.

 “Not you, Fíli, lad,” Thorin said, his tone softening. “You were doing nothing wrong. Carry on. It’s _you,”_ he snapped turning back to Kíli who was glaring at him defiantly. “Kíli, this has to stop.”

“What, Uncle?” Kíli demanded. “Being wary of those who would harm us?”

“No,” Thorin returned. “Seeing intent to do harm where none exists. The elves have done us no harm. They have welcomed us into their halls—“

“Welcomed?!” Kíli snapped, gesturing wildly in the direction of the hall despite the pain that flared down his back at the motion. “They _captured_ us. _Bound_ us. _Drug_ us before their king for an _interrogation._ Is that how they _welcome_ guests?!”

“Uninvited and unexpected ones, yes,” Thorin replied coolly, speaking as though to a simpleton. “We were on their path, Kíli. The trail that led right to their gates. Their families. How would we have treated unannounced elves that marched to the gates of Ered Luin? Warrior elves with weapons? They showed _you,_ in particular _,_ a kindness by allowing your arms to be bound before you rather than forcing them behind as would have been wiser.

“As soon as our presence and situation were explained we were freed, given food, medical treatment, and rooms,” Thorin continued, disdain dripping from the words. “Can you honestly say we would have done the same?”

“I . . . but they . . .” Kíll trailed off, unable to put into words his suspicions, especially with his uncle’s words ringing in his ears. He knew their own people would have taken longer to free the elves; if they did.

“Have treated us as guests,” Thorin said firmly, seeing that he was making progress and wondering if this wasn’t the tract he should have taken with Fíli earlier in the quest. “Guests who would not have worn out their welcome in one night had they not been so mistrustful that their hosts feared for their safety.” At that Kíli paled, reading between the lines. He opened his mouth and closed it a few times before shaking his head, his hand going limp on Thorin’s elbow.

“No,” he breathed finally. “Uncle, you can’t mean that . . . are they making us leave because of me?” Thorin sighed trying to think of the words to say to tell the lad the truth and spare his conscience before he laughed mirthlessly.

“Aye, lad,” he said eventually, knowing that the truth would go farther in the future than a beautiful lie. “That’s what Thranduil came to discuss last night. His people had expressed fear for their safety among the company. They feared _your_ reaction in particular. He asked me if I could guarantee their safety should you be startled. I told him I couldn’t. And we agreed that it was better that we leave before this tentative truce came to bloodshed.”

“But you . . . if you wanted to stop me, you could. I’m not at full strength. Even if I was you could still stop me,” Kíli said, not attempting to deny that he might have attacked had he felt provoked. He knew the truth as strongly as Thorin did. Had one elf stepped out of line and behaved even semi-aggressively he wouldn’t have hesitated to defend himself or his kin from the threat.

“I can’t,” Thorin said sadly. “Once I could have. Not now. You know that. Once I could have physically stopped any dwarf in this company, perhaps more than one. I’m not certain that I can stop even you now. The goblins saw to that.”

“I’m sorry, Uncle,” Kíli muttered, bowing his head to compose himself. The weight of what he had done then and now seeming to crush him. It was everything he could do not to pull back his hand when he felt his uncle’s knuckles brush against his own. Instead, he looked up, seeing forgiveness he knew he didn’t deserve in his uncle’s blue eyes.

“I don’t blame you, Kíli,” Thorin repeated, wondering just how many times he would have to say it to both of his lads before they believed him. “I made my choices. I will hold none but me accountable for them.”

“Not Goblin Town,” Kíli whispered. “Though I do regret my part in it all. Here. Now. I . . .I should have trusted you. Believed you when you said we were safe. Then . . . maybe we could have stayed longer. Gotten healthier and more travel-fit. Anything that happens, I caused it. Just as I did us needing to go to the elves to beg.”

“You were the most obvious, lad, but you weren’t the only one,” Thorin said, forcing his hand up to cup his nephew’s cheek. “It is best that we move on. We have tarried too long waiting for health. Durin’s Day will be upon us soon and we still have many leagues to go, boats or no.” That last sentence reminded him of the hobbit’s reaction the night before.

“Just think on what I said, lad,” Thorin said rubbing Kíli’s cheek with his thumb before releasing him and moving off in search of the hobbit. While Kíli did think about what his uncle had said he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had doomed them all again with his arrogance.

ooOO88OOoo

As it turned out, the issue with Bilbo was not so simply solved. Thorin had been unable to locate him prior to them leaving the guest quarters and only managed to do so on the docks as they were boarding the boats. Bilbo had stopped short of the plank to the boat and was staring at the water as if it had offered him personal offense, his breath coming in shallow gasps and his face decidedly pale. Despite all the dangers they had faced, this was the first time he had seen the hobbit so terrified that words failed him.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said when the hobbit failed to notice his presence but even that did not garner a reaction as the burglar continued to stare at the dark, churning water. Even a louder repetition didn’t break the hobbit from his trance. Knowing that it was, perhaps, the wrong thing to do Thorin brushed his arm against Bilbo’s to get his attention. The hobbit flinched, turning to him sharply while stepping even further away from the water, as though worried he would be pushed in.

“Thorin, I-I didn’t see you there,” Bilbo said, his voice higher even than his usual tone. “I didn’t mean to bump into you. I didn’t, that is, I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Thorin couldn’t stop the chuckle that rose up his throat at the thought of such a soft, gentle creature causing him harm.

“No, Burglar,” Thorin replied. “You did not harm me. In fact, I am the one that bumped into you. Intentionally, I might add. I apologize for the start. I did say your name a few times first. You were . . .preoccupied. Is there something I need to know?”

“I beg your pardon?” Bilbo asked, confused as to what he had done that Thorin would need to be informed of.

“The water,” Thorin said, offering the hobbit a small smile in apology for making public his apparent fear. “You fear it.”

“Hobbits don’t . . . we don’t . . . _I_ can’t,” Bilbo stuttered, trying to find the words to explain the horror churning in his gut.

“You can’t swim,” Thorin said, attempting to bring his hand up to rub his eyes only to stop with a sigh. “Do you float?”

“I-I don’t know,” Bilbo breathed. “I-I’ve never. We don’t _do_ water in the Shire. I’ve never tried. Everyone knows if you go out on the water you die. There are a few crazed Brandybucks that dabble with boats but . . .” Bilbo trailed off looking at the water again.

 Thorin sighed. Yet another problem with no good solution. While it would not do to risk losing the burglar, even were he not a friend, especially this close to the mountain,  it also would not do to force the fatigued, starved company to walk to Esgaroth for the sake of one member when there was another alternative. No, the company could not be made to walk.

“Is there anyone you trust?” Thorin asked softly. “Someone you would be willing to tell of your inability that may be able to aid you should it come to that? Dwarves are decent boatmen and there is little chance you should end up in the water, however . . .” Thorin left the words unsaid, knowing that Bilbo was aware of the risks or he would not be so terrified.

“Bofur,” Bilbo said instantly, swallowing hard. “I-I’ve seen him swim, when he rescued your nephews. I have no doubt he could help. Or that he would. We’ve become friends. He might, no, _will_ tease me but he won’t let me drown if he can help it.” Thorin didn’t tell the hobbit that he doubted Bofur would tease him when fear practically oozed from his pores. Instead, he nodded.

“Will you ask him or shall I?” Thorin asked.

“I can do it,” Bilbo said with a sad smile. While he didn’t say it either, he felt that Thorin had more than enough on his plate to worry about one hobbit’s swimming abilities or lack thereof. As the hobbit walked off to find the miner, Thorin turned at the sound of boots on the dock. He was relieved to see his eldest nephew, though the troubled look in his blue eyes was concerning.

“Fíli, lad, if you’ve come to apologize for earlier,” Thorin began, only to be cut off by a slight shake of Fíli’s head.

“I haven’t,” he said, “Nor have I come seeking an apology. You didn’t mean to startle me and I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping. No, it’s about your conversation with Bilbo. He raises an important issue, Uncle,” Fíli said softly, leaning in conspiratorially. “If we end up in the water can you swim?” It was on the tip of Thorin’s tongue to snap that he could very well swim and for the lad to mind his own business, but he bit it back at the concern he could see written on Fíli’s face. He knew from recent experience that bravado would get him nowhere and would only damage what had only just begun to heal.

“I don’t know,” Thorin said eventually. “Let’s hope we don’t have to find out.” Fíli nodded, the worry not leaving his eyes.

 “Don’t worry, lad,” Thorin said pressing his forehead to his nephew’s. “This river’s not the worst thing we’ve faced and it’s not actively trying to kill us. We’ll make it through. You’ll see. Probably won’t even get wet.” Even so, when Thorin and Fili separated, Thorin’s shoulders drooped. Perhaps it wouldn’t have just been for the hobbit’s benefit to walk.  Thranduil’s words about the river in this part of its course being wild rang in his mind and it whispered that hope had been a nothing but curse thus far. In fact, it could be argued that lucky fourteen or not the quest had been cursed since its inception.

As soon as he knew that his uncle wasn’t looking, Fili looked for Dwalin. He knew that his uncle and cousin had had a recent falling-out but he also knew that above all Dwalin was loyal to Thorin. It only took a moment to get his cousin’s attention. With another glance at his uncle to make certain he wouldn’t be found out, he quickly signed the situation to Dwalin. Dwalin nodded and flashed back a single sentence. _I will watch over him._ Fíli nodded his thanks, content that the river would not be the end of his uncle.

On the heels of relief was dread. He knew his uncle had wanted to keep his condition a secret but he didn’t feel that he’d had a choice. It was either tell or possibly allow Thorin to drown. He only hoped that if it was ever found out what he had done, his uncle would realize it had only been for his safety.


	64. Lake Town

In the end, they needn't have worried. Despite Thranduil's words about the river being difficult, it was a straightforward passage. Yes, there were rocks and yes, it was a bit swift but it was nothing that a couple of dwarves with oar-skills couldn't manage. Though even Thorin had to admit that it was not something he could have done alone. While they all made it to Long Lake in the boats, they did all get a little wet.

Nearly worse than the rapids was when they hit the expanse of Long Lake and the current from the river faded. Then they were obligated to take up oars and row for the city on stilts they could see in the distance. Each dwarf too his turn at the oars, grumbling the whole while as he forced his tired body into motion. Bilbo offered timidly and his offer—thankfully, if he was being honest—was rejected. Thorin didn’t even attempt to offer, he knew the task to be beyond him, and none of the others asked if he would try. Kíli also didn’t offer.

In fact, since his discussion with his uncle, he hadn’t said a word. He had done little more than move where he was told and tried to be the least of a burden on the company as he could. He’d already forced them from safety before they were whole enough to move safely. None of them would incur further risk on his account. He would see to it. As useless as he felt sitting in the middle of the boat with the gear, he couldn’t help the dread and nausea that set into his gut as they neared the town. Ringing in his head was the concern that his fears would take him once more and they would be forced to move on again before they were ready. He only hoped that this time they wouldn’t be bound. He knew he couldn’t abide it and hated that someone might be injured or killed when he reacted poorly.

**ooOO88OOoo**

The people of Lake Town were more than a little surprised to see dwarves in boats that were _clearly_ of Elvish make and the company was obliged to wait in said boats until someone from the town guard was able to come a scrutinize the letter Thranduil had given Thorin. As more of the city guard came to the docks, Kíli wasn’t the only one shifting uncomfortably in trepidation of what may happen. Dwalin’s fingers were drumming anxiously on the hilt of his hammer and even Bilbo was brushing a finger over his little letter-opener.

“It bears the seal of the Elf King,” the man finally declared after turning the paper to and fro and inspecting it for forgery. By the time he was sure that the paper, and it’s promise of payment by the woodland realm for the storage of the boats until they could be retrieved, was genuine the dwarves, wet and weary as they were, were growing impatient.

“Welcome to Esgaroth, Master Dwarves,” the guard said with a dip of his head. “May I ask your business? I see no goods for trade and we currently have sent no request for smithwork. What brings you?”

Thorin stood to his full height, wishing he felt less water-logged and travel-worn. “I am Thorin the second, also known as Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thrór who was King under the Mountain. I currently claim the title of King of Durin’s Folk in Exile, I come to claim what is rightfully mine, The Lonely Mountain and title of King Under the Mountain from the scourge. I seek shelter to rest and prepare my company for their assault on the mountain.”

The men seemed shocked by his announcement. All of them knew the names of Thror, Thrain, and Thorin. Their grandparents had often spoken of the dwarves of the mountain and reminisced about the glory days of Dale and Erebor. To have someone claiming to be one of the kings of old standing before them—and looking more like a starved urchin than a king—now took a moment to process.  Whether he spoke the truth or not, his words stirred something within them that they couldn’t quite name. Too long had they lived in fear of the dragon. Half-drowned urchin or king, his promise held hope.

The company, too, were affected by his words. For too long their quest had seemed like a fight for survival rather than what it was, a quest for a home and the wealth of their people. Ever since they had left the Shire the quest had been one trial after another, one crisis giving way to the next with little respite. For most, a swell of pride that had long been absent filled their hearts but for a few, the words came with a sense of dread. All the difficulties so far had paled in comparison to what was to come. As terrible as the goblins, orcs and their own kin had become, they were far less deadly that Smaug the Destroyer. A potentially live dragon still awaited them.

Eventually, the guard composed himself and found his voice once more. “I am afraid that I can do nothing in the face of such claims,” he said, swallowing hard. “I am not saying that I doubt you, merely that the decision to offer you shelter is not mine to make. We must see the Master of Lake Town. He will decide if you may stay.”

“I understand,” Thorin said with a slight nod. “Where might we find the Master?”

“I will lead you,” the guard replied. “You may come up the ladder with my tentative welcome to Esgaroth.” Thorin glanced at the ladder with trepidation, wondering if he could manage the climb and avoid admitting his weakness to yet another potential ally, or foe. He was about to attempt it, knowing it to be in vain when he was saved by Fíli.

“Is there a way that does not involve a ladder?” the young heir asked, his tone and expression apologetic. “You see, I . . . well, I have broken my hand and I fear that I will not be able to make the climb with a pack and would not burden my kin if it can be avoided.” He held his wrapped arm aloft for proof.

“Aye,” the guard nodded. “There is a stair. If you will permit it, I will come down and guide you to them.”

“That would be much appreciated,” Thorin said, moving to give the man room. “His is not our only injury that might have been exasperated by such a climb.” The thought crossed the guard’s mind that if a ladder could present such a challenge, was it wise to plan an assault on what could very well be a live dragon but he held his peace. It was their business, not his. Instead, he climbed into their boat, not failing to notice that their child—they had brought a _child_ on a suicide mission! What kind of a people were dwarves?—moved away from him as though afraid he would bite. With a shake of his head, he took the rudder and led them to the steps.

As they climbed the steps to the town, Fíli fell back and allowed his uncle to make his way up them by himself so that he could speak with Dwalin. His cousin said nothing, continuing to stare ahead as though Fíli was not attempting to make conversation.

“Thank you,” Fíli said softly, watching his uncle or brother for signs that they were listening and seeing none. “I know you and uncle have had a falling out but . . . I knew you would help if it came to it. There wasn’t anyone else I felt I could ask.”

“Aye, lad,” Dwalin replied, sparing the lad a small, sad smile. “Thorin and I have been friends for _many_ years. No matter what he or anyone else thinks of me, I wouldn’t let him drown.”  Fíli nodded, his face still troubled as thoughts that his uncle would have been able to swim were it not for him assaulted his mind.

 “I won’t tell him you asked me to help,” Dwalin added, trying to ease burden he believed troubled the young heir’s mind. “I won’t create more problems between you than there are. I’ll keep your secret.” Fíli shook his head.

 “I’m not worried about that,” he muttered, his body and expression screaming the opposite. “Uncle would understand. It’s not like I could pull him out. Not right now. Neither could Kili. _We_ needed help” Dwalin said nothing. It was clear to him that despite the time they had spent together lately Fíli still didn’t understand Thorin if he believed that. Thorin didn’t forgive or forget betrayal, and that’s how he would see this—Dwalin knew his old friend well—Fíli had told someone he saw as an enemy, or at least an antagonist, a weakness of his, even though it was obvious to any with eyes that Thorin was less than at his best. And, though none of them but the Elf had said so, that this far out from his initial injury such limitations were likely permanent.

**ooOO88OOoo**

The meeting with the Master went well. He, too, remembered the names of Thorin’s forbearers as well as the name of Thorin himself. The greed in his eyes and the way his fingers moved the rings of his other hand as Thorin spoke worried Balin and Gloin but Thorin seemed to preen under the attention. Travel-worn and weakened thought he was, he took on a more regal stance before the Master than they had seen since Goblin Town, seeming to look down his nose at a man more than a foot taller than himself.

The cousins exchanged worried glances behind his back as Thorin nodded regally to the Master’s flamboyant bow and statement of “Welcome to Esgaroth, _King_ Thorin, and Company.”

 Their king’s generally level public face had been shaken since Goblin Town, they worried how he would take the scrutiny of Men who were now acknowledging him as king. He and his nephews, whom he had introduced as the princes they were. Their people would never recover their reputation if Thorin or one of the lads had a meltdown, no matter what excuse was offered. They could only hope that their stay in Esgaroth was a brief one. None of them trusted the lads, or Thorin, to hold it together for an extended stay.  Especially when the Master insisted on a welcome feast for the “heroes of Esgaroth and the erstwhile Desolation of Smaug.”

Even so, they were powerless to refuse and had less power to suggest to Thorin that it was a bad plan than the hobbit. Had they have voiced their concerns, they wouldn’t have put it past him to suggest more feast days to the Master just to spite them. They could only hope that they were wrong and cooler heads would prevail.

**ooOO88OOoo**

As evening fell and preparations for the feast began in earnest, Kíli felt the now familiar anxiety begin to settle in his gut making him nauseous. The clamor, the dimness, the torches. While he _knew_ that this was nothing like Goblin Town or even their “welcome” to the Elf King’s realm, he couldn’t change how he felt. He couldn’t stop his heart pounding in his chest, nor the cold-sweat that broke out across his skin. He finished arranging his uncle’s hair, as he was in no condition to do it and there was no one else who could, before he stepped back, bowing his head.

 “I-I’m not going,” he whispered, refusing to look at Thorin as he did. “I can’t do it, Uncle. So many Men. So tall. So _loud_. I c-can’t.”

“Kíli,” Fíli sighed, reaching for his brother’s hand. Whatever else he was going to say was lost in Thorin’s next words.

“You have no choice, lad,” Thorin replied, his voice soft but with a steel core that Kíli knew he would never change. As dissimilar as the situations were, it _was_ Goblin Town anew. Once more, his uncle would force him into something more than he could bear. He felt resentment bubble within him as he realized that public image was more important than his needs.

 “I can’t,” Kíli muttered, looking up at his uncle through his own unbound hair. “There’s too many of them. Too much noise. Too many shadows. Please don’t make me. I don’t know that I can . . . that I won’t . . . don’t make me go.”

 “I have no choice,” the king sighed, gripping Kíli’s forearm in solidarity. “You have already been introduced as a prince of the realm; my sister-son. That title comes with responsibility, lad. You _must_ attend this feast in our honor. Anything else would be seen as offensive. We _need_ the men of lake town, little one. Perhaps not someday once we are re-established, but _now_ we need their aid to reach the mountain and their trade to sustain her once she is ours. We _cannot_ slight them for our own comfort.”

  _What of their safety?_ Kíli wondered. Still, he said nothing, but he also didn’t argue further. It would do no more good here than it ever had before. His uncle’s mind was made up. He would just have to do the best he could.

“We’ll be there, brother,” Fíli said, squeezing his hand to get his attention. It hurt Fíli to see the resignation in Kíli’s eyes but he knew that this time their uncle was right. There was no other way.

 “You’re not alone. It’ll be fine,” Fíli muttered, pressing his forehead to his brothers. “I’ll be there. Nothing will happen.”

 Kíli wanted to yell, to tell him that they had both been there the first time and things hadn’t been fine.  To remind Fili that he had done nearly as much harm to Kili as the goblins had.  To say that it hadn’t helped in Mirkwood. Their presence had done nothing to help him. It had done nothing to stop him from growing paranoid and ruining their safe haven. Why would this time be different? But he said nothing, merely scoffing before brushing off his brother’s hands and walking off.

 “Does he have to come?” Fili asked softly, hoping his question would be well received but _needing_ to ask all the same. “We could say he’s ill.” Thorin thought about it a moment before he shook his head.

“He has to make an appearance,” the king finally sighed. “He doesn’t have to stay. Once we’ve introduced him to the people I will make his excuses and he can come back. But he _has_ to go. Can you make him understand that?”

“I’ll try,” Fíli said, looking at the door his brother had retreated through with apprehension. So far things hadn’t gone well when he and Kíli had been alone under such circumstances. He only hoped this time would be different.


End file.
